The Strange Face of Love
by Third Stage
Summary: Jim was certain that if something wasn't done about the situation, then the pain would be enough to tear the family apart. And the one with the most at stake was Sam. The Winchester family battle somthing that no one saw coming...
1. Alone

**Title:**_The Strange Face of Love_

**Category: **_Supernatural_

**Rating: **_M_

**Warnings:** _Angst, Sammy-whumpage, swearing, and unresolved family issues! Yay!  
_

**A/N: **Hey all! This is my first supernatural fic, though I've been writing fan fiction for a long tim now. I know, I know, this fic probably won't be any good, but its been buzzing round in my head for weeks and I desperately needed to get it down on paper (so to speak.) I was looking for someone to beta it for me, but that turned out to be a failure, so the only editing this thing has had has been my weary eyes!

Any suggestions, ideas or comments will be welcomed. In fact, any feedback at all would be great! So I hope you enjoy, readers and don't forget to leave any comments!

* * *

Part One: _Alone_

-

_How far that little candle throws his beams!_

_So shines a good deed in a weary world_

_- William Shakespeare_

Sam let out another annoyed huff and collapsed backwards into the grass. Dean appeared over him and smirked down at his irritated brother.

"What, that's it? That's all you've got, little bro?"

Sam scowled at him and gave him the one fingered salute discreetly, all too aware that their father was nearby and keeping an eye on them.

Dean was now seventeen, and participating wholeheartedly in their father hunts. Sam, more often than not, was forced to stay alone in motel rooms and caravan parks because the hunts were too unpredictable for him to join in.

John had deemed it unwise to let Sam take part when he was so inexperienced so he had been forced to take up hunts that only required little actual leg work, and much research. Never anything that kept them away from Sam for too long.

And it was pissing Sam off. He was forced to do research while he was alone, which got boring quickly. Not to mention that he missed Dean, although he'd never admit it. He was used to it being just Dean and him when their dad was hunting but now that it had changed, Sam was lonely and miserable. Going out at night wasn't an option, and he had learnt long ago that making friends was pointless so Dean and their dad had come up with an unspoken agreement.

Whenever they were together they spent as much time with him as possible. And if anything, this made Sam even more irritable and alienated. Dean would spend most of his time getting on his nerves, and their father would make them train relentlessly like the drill Sergent that he was used to being. Sam was less than pleased with this solution.

And tonight they were off again.

He pushed himself up from the ground and glared at Dean.

"Why bother? I'm just going to be stuck in that rotting room anyway. Why not save your energy for the hunt?" he snapped at Dean.

Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

"You know why Sammy. You've got to be able to..."

"Protect myself, yes I know. Spare me the fucking lecture, Dean. God knows I get it enough from Dad."

Dean was glaring at him hotly now.

"Damn right you do. Cause it obviously ain't getting through that thick skull of yours, Sam." Dean snapped back.

It was probably a bad idea to rile him up this way Sam knew, but he couldn't help it. Hours of being cooped up by himself had allowed plenty of time for the resentment to simmer away quietly.

"Lay off Dean!"

"How about you start showing some gratitude, Sam-o and stop with these bratty temper tantrums. You're not the only one with needs in this family!" Dean growled.

" Fuck off Dean! What the hell would you know anyway?" Sam whirled around, ready to storm off when Dean grabbed his arm.

"I know a hell of a lot more that you do, you friggin ingrate!"

"Let go of me Dean!"

"No."

"I said let go!" Sam whirled and shoved Dean backward. Dean retaliated by tackling him to the ground, which led to an all out wrestling match, with shouts and insults and swearing interspersing their laboured breathing.

Abruptly they were yanked apart. The oldest Winchester held them apart by the scruffs of their shirts and shook them slightly.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded angrily. "I leave you alone for five minutes and I come back to find you two brawling in the dirt like a pair of drunks!"

Sam was scowling darkly at Dean who was alternating between glaring back and glancing at their father. Sam figured that Dean would back off once their father intervened which only served to make him angrier. Why did Dean always have to obey their father? Why didn't he ever stick up for what he wanted, or stick up for Sam anymore?

"Dean, I expect you at least to know better!" Their father was snapping. "You're the more responsible one, so suck it up and stop letting him provoke you."

He released Dean but kept a hold on Sam, who he glared at fiercely. Sam wasn't about to back down and he glared right on back, unwilling to let this one go.

"And you, Sam. I get that you're tired of being left behind, but you need to hold down the fort for me here. And stop disrespecting your brother like that. Apologise."

Sam almost choked at the unfairness of it all. Always was he the one forced to apologise, just because he didn't fall in line as easily as Dean did.

"No! Why should I! I'm old enough to come with you now, but you won't..."

"SAM! When I tell you to stop being disrespectful, I MEAN it! Now apologise!" John shouted, giving Sam a rough shake.

Sam glowered at Dean who was looking slightly worried now, and he felt tears threatening. He wouldn't cry in front of his father, who was so furious at him for talking back, and he hated Dean at that moment with an intensity that upset him.

Sam gritted his teeth, and looked away.

"Sorry," he muttered.

John shook him slightly again.

"Look him in they eye and apologise properly. NOW!"

Sam met his brothers eyes. Dean was watching him, upset himself now, and torn between placating his father and comforting Sam. If anything, Dean's sympathy made him angrier, and made him want to cry even more. He loved Dean, and he hated the distance that had been growing between them over the last few weeks. But most of all, he hated feeling like he was being left out, abandoned by his own father and brother. It was an old fear that had plagued him throughout his childhood, and one that Dean knew about. That he hadn't picked up on it yet hurt Sam more that he would ever admit.

"I'm sorry Dean. I didn't mean it," Sam repeated, even though his mind was rebelling against the spoken words, and his heart was screaming for some sort of recognition of his pain.

"Dean?" John turned hard eyes to his eldest son.

"I'm sorry too Sam," was the clipped rely.

Despite his eyes, Deans words were shuttered and the hunching of his shoulders told Sam that he was being shut out.

John released Sam with a small shove. He staggered before regaining his balance and glaring at his feet with angry tears in his eyes.

"Dean. Get your ass inside and start getting ready for tonight." John ordered. " And you..."

He turned to Sam.

"If you ever back chat me like that again..." Johns words were tight with anger and he didn't finish the threat, but Sam felt that old twinge of dread in his gut. His father was able to strike fear into the hearts of the stoutest men, and he had employed the tactic when it came to dealing with rebellious children. John Winchester knew though, that that fear was often punishment enough, and it usually ensured that the trespass or mistake would never be repeated.

Rarely had he ever raised a hand against his boys in anger, and then it had only been a few swift spanks when they were younger. Now that they were older, they had to work to gain his forgiveness, and sometimes that was a difficult thing. When it came to Sam, that forgiveness was the hardest to gain, and Sam had never understood why. He often saw it as favouritism of Dean, and he also found it hard to forgive Dean for this as well as his father.

"I want you to run laps around this field. You'll not stop until I say. Get moving." John ordered, turning his back on Sam and moving back inside the small cabin they were renting in the holiday park. Dean lingered a moment after the door slammed, watching him quietly

And finally the tears fell as he turned and made his way to the field that lay beyond their small cabin.

"Sam..." Dean's voice was quiet, but Sam heard him clearly.

He ignored the soft plea he heard in his voice as he started the punishment his father had set out for him.

It wasn't fair.

-

Sam had been running for a good hour, and dusk was starting to fall. His lungs gasped for air, and the sweat cooled rapidly on his brow. The tears had stopped long ago, but the anger and the pain remained and ate away at him.

Sam was tired; his high emotions combined with the exercise had worn his out thoroughly enough that he didn't want to move for a week. His muscles burned and he was barely even jogging anymore. He hadn't dared stop for a breather though, for the field was clearly visible from the cabin and he knew that his father would be watching. The lights from the cabin were inviting, and air was starting to get cold rapidly.

As if sensing his youngest exhaustion, John appeared at the door, his anger apparently gone.

"Sam. You can come in now."

Sam stopped running and made his way slowly towards the cabin to where his father waited. John stopped him at the door with a hand on his shoulder. Sam stopped obediently, but didn't look up at his father.

"Go and get a warm shower, son. I think you need an early night."

Wordlessly, Sam nodded and kept his head lowered as he slipped past his father into the warmth of the cabin.

Dean paused as he zipped up the duffle bag filled with the weapons they'd need and opened his mouth as if to say something but Sam hurried past him and into the sanctuary of the bathroom. He paused, and leant on the door, listening to the low murmur of voices beyond before he swift turned the shower on and stripped his sweat soaked clothes.

"Right Sammy, you know what to do," his dad told him as he slipped his favourite hunting knife into the sheath on his calf.

"Lock the door and salt all the entrances. Don't leave the room for any reason. Dean restocked the fridge earlier, so there's plenty to eat. If anything happens, both Dean and I have our cells on. You got it?"

Sam, who had been standing by the door and watching as Dean and his dad had loaded the gear in the car nodded at his father, and avoided meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean patted his shoulder as he left the room and got into the passenger seat of the Impala. John hesitated and rested his hands on Sam's thin shoulders.

"Look son, I know you hate being here by yourself, but I don't have any choice. Next time I'll pick a hunt that you can come on. How's that sound to you?" John's voice was gentle, his hands on his shoulders were warm and broad.

Sam wanted nothing more that to be able to lose himself in his fathers strength for awhile. To hug him without fear of repercussion but the sadness that lingered from the afternoon still stung like an insect bite, and he couldn't find it in himself to meet the man's eyes.

"Yeah Dad. Sounds good." he replied softly, knowing that his father was trying, in his own way, to show that he cared.

John sighed after a moment, and scuffed his hair before stepping back.

"Remember what I said, okay?"

Sam nodded and closed the door behind him. For a moment he leant against the door and listened as the Impala roared to life, and drove away. And then he was all alone again, for another night. Alone, by himself in a cabin at the edge of the woods. He knew better than to go out there at night. While he was confident in his ability to defend himself and hold his own in a fight, he knew that he didn't know enough killing anything supernatural to be much good to anyone, let alone himself.

Pushing away from the solid wood of the door, Sam set about salting the entrances and windows.

Having done that, he grabbed a soda from the fridge and plopped himself down in front of the TV for another quiet night alone.

-

The next evening, Sam was still alone and starting to worry. His father had said that they'd be back early afternoon, but Sam hadn't seen or heard anything from Dean of their dad. And if he was honest with himself, he was at a loss as to what to do.

He'd gone for a walk that day into town. He'd browsed the book stores, and eaten lunch in the small town's dingy park by the pond. What he really wanted though, was Dean. He missed his big brother and he wanted nothing more than to make up with him so they could get back to being brothers once again.

Now he was back at the cabin alone by himself, with no idea where his family was or if they were even okay.

Something was wrong. Sam could feel it. Not just with Dean and his father being gone so long, but Sam got the feeling like he was in trouble. Unguarded and alone. Vulnerable.

Not sure where the feeling was coming from, Sam grabbed the shot gun and made sure it was loaded. The salt lines were back in place and Sam had spent time carving protective symbols and charms he'd read in his fathers books into the cabins door and window frames.

Still the feeling wouldn't pass. It felt like some one or something was watching him. Waiting for him to slip up, to make a mistake so it could make a move.

Sam felt his panic rising. He huddled in between his and Dean's bed and clutched the shot gun to his chest like it was a lifeline.

He knew that it was probably just because he was afraid for his brother and his father that he felt so unsettled. They'd be home soon, he told himself, and the feeling will go away.

'There is nothing watching,' he whispered to himself. 'There is nothing here.'

The shrill ringing of his phone made him jump a mile and he fumbled desperately for it.

"Dean?" he asked breathlessly.

"Sam..." Dean was speaking but there was too much static over the line. "you need...its not...Dad...said to get..."

"Dean?!" Sam was frantic now. " Dean I can't hear you! What's happening? Are you okay?"

"Sam...listen to me..."

The line went dead and Sam felt his stomach drop. What was he going to do now? He tried to dial his dad's number, but heard nothing but the dial tone.

His hands trembled as his fear rose once more, but somehow he managed to dial Pastor Jim's number on the first try. The phone was answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Pastor Jim?" Sam was ashamed of how his voice trembled. He was fifteen for Christ's sake...

"Sammy? Is that you? What's wrong?"

"Dad and Dean were supposed to be back this afternoon, but they're not here."

"Okay, son, you need to calm down. The hunt probably took longer than they thought is all. They'll be back before long. What's got you so upset?" The Pastors gentle voice worked to soothe Sam's nerves a little, but the feeling that something was there with him continued to build at a frightening rate, and Sam felt his chest tighten with fear.

"I think... There's something here, Pastor. Something's here with me and I don't know..."

Sam jumped as a strong gust of wind rattled the windows. Freezing air was blowing in underneath the door and Sam shivered at the unexpected drop in temperature.

"Sam? What are you talking about? What's there?"

"I don't know," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. "I don't know what it is, but there's something..."

A loud rattling shook the windows and Sam huddled back against the wall clutching the phone desperately.

"Please, Jim, Help me..."

"Sam, stay on the line with me. Tell me what's happening. Did you salt the doors and windows?"

Pastor Jim's voice had taken on a harsh quality that Sam rarely heard from the quiet man and that was enough to put him on edge alone.

"Yeah and I put charms on the..."

A sudden sense of dread filled him as he realised something. The wind...under the door...and the salt. Sam scrambled to his feet and lurched to the middle of the room where he stared in horror at the disintegrating line of salt.

He could barely breathe as fear tightened his chest. He dove for the shotgun and, clutching his phone tightly, raced for the bathroom and quickly salted the door before he huddled down in the corner of the shower. He fumbled for the phone once more.

"Jim? Something's about to get in! What do I do? Tell me what to do!" he begged, unaware of the tears on his cheeks.

"Sam, you need to calm down. Tell me what's happening," Jims voice was deliberately calm, but it did nothing for Sam this time. He wished fervently for Dean and his father to show up in time, but he knew that the odds of that were dim.

"There's something trying to get in..."

"I know that, son. I'm on my way to you now. I need you to tell me what's happening. Where are you now?"

"The bathroom. The salt line across the front door was blown away..."

"Blown away?"

"There was this freezing wind. And the windows were shaking," Sam whispered.

"What else?" Jim demanded.

Sam could hear the sound of a car starting in the background and felt a small wave of relief. But Pastor Jim was hundreds of miles away, and he would never get to him in time to be of any help.

"Sam?"

"Um...it felt like something was watching me all afternoon but…..Jim I don't know what to do!"

"Okay, okay. Have you barricaded yourself in the bathroom?"

"Yeah."

"What about weapons? Have you got any around you?"

"Got the shotgun." Sam whispered, having to force the words out of his tight throat.

"What if...what if no one gets here in time? What if..."

"Stop it Sam!" Pastor Jim ordered. "You need to keep a level head about you. Think. What would Dean or your father do in your situation?"

A choked laugh forced itself out of him "They wouldn't be stupid enough to get into a situation like this!"

"Sam! What did I say? You need to be able to think your way out of this. What is there around you that you could use?"

"Um...I'm not sure."

"Take a few deep breaths for me, okay son? You're doing well. It sounds to me like you're dealing with a spirit of some kind. Have you noticed anything unusual around the place over the past couple of days?"

Sam did as he was told and breathed deeply, forcing himself to really think about Jim's question and not so much on what could happen if no body got there in time. He had to be brave. For Dean. For Dad, he told himself. Because he couldn't let them down by letting this defeat him.

He was still shaking though, and the gorge was rising in the back of his throat, but he forced back his tears and thought hard.

"I don't think...no." he replied, his voice still shaking. "There's been nothing."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Jim's voice was steady, and patient, and he seemed to realise that Sam had shaken off his initial panic.

Outside an extra strong gust of freezing wind shook the cabin and the windows rattled so hard he thought they would break.

"Oh god..." he whispered squeezing his eyes shut.

"Stay with me Sammy," Jim's voice was deep in his ear, and he convulsively clutched the cool metal of the gun closer to his chest.

"Jim? How am I gonna..." Sam began, but the sound of the door slamming open made him cry out in fear.

"Sam...?!?!"

TBC


	2. Leaving

**IMPORTANT A/N**: In the last chapter I said that Dean was 17 and Sam was fifteen. I apologize for this mistake, and I do realize that they're four years apart. San is actually 13 in this story. Just thought I'd clarify.

Thanks to all who reviewed last time! I'm glad for the encouragement and thanks to the reviewer who pointed out the mistake with the ages. Appreciate it!

(-) this indicates a change in perspective or a change of scene

Part Two: _ Leaving_

-

_"Oh god..." he whispered squeezing his eyes shut._

_"Stay with me Sammy," Jim's voice was deep in his ear, and he convulsively clutched the cool metal of the gun closer to his chest._

_"Jim? How am I gonna..." Sam began, but the sound of the door slamming open made him cry out in fear._

_"Sam...?!?!_

_"_

-

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as the main door slammed open. His breath heaved in his chest, and he felt the tears start to fall again. He wrapped his hands around the gun and prepared to fire. The phone was wedged tightly between his shoulder and his ear.

"Sam? What's happening?" Jim asked urgently in his ear.

"It got in," Sam whispered.

He was struggling to get in air, and his hands were trembling so badly the gun wavered in his hands. Sam swallowed hard and tried to steady himself and grip the gun as tight as he could in his sweating grip.

"Okay, Sam. You know what to do," Jim spoke soothingly in his ear. "Just like your daddy taught you, okay? Remember your breathing."

Sam nodded, forgetting that Jim couldn't see.

"Sam?" a voice called, and he frowned in confusion.

Sam's eyes sprung open in disbelief. It couldn't be...

"Sammy? Where are you?"

It was only then that he realized the wind had died down, and that it really was his father out there calling his name.

Sam dropped the gun and the phone with a clatter, and buried his face in his hands. Oh god, he was safe! They were back and he was safe.

The fear took over then and he began to sob in earnest, unable to stifle the sounds that tore themselves out of his chest.

The next thing he knew the door flew open and Dean and his dad burst in, guns at the ready to take down whatever it was that was scaring him. It would have been funny if Sam wasn't so terrified.

There was a moment of stunned silence that was filled only with the sounds of Sam's distressed sobs before he was swept up in strong arms and hauled bodily out of the confines of the shower.

"Sam? Sammy what happened?" John demanded.

Sam shook his head and buried his face in his father's broad chest, unable to pull himself together.

Dean had found Sam's phone and was speaking in urgent whispers to Pastor Jim.

Sam clutched at his father desperately.

"Don't leave me again," he begged. "Please, Dad, I'm sorry. Please...don't leave me alone..."

John was looking at him, stunned before he looked up at Dean who was standing at the foot of the bed looking confused and shaken in his dust covered clothes.

"That was Jim. He said..." Dean shook himself a little and looked down at Sam and their father. "He said that there was something here. Something was after Sam."

John instinctively clutched his youngest closer protectively.

"What, Dean? What was it?"

Dean shook his head. "He didn't know for sure. Some sort of spirit, he thought."

Sam, who had started to calm down a little, shuddered slightly as he listened to the voices of the only two people he loved. It was okay. They were here, and he wasn't alone any more. Dean was here. Dean would protect him.

John looked down at him again, and sat him up slightly so he could look into his eyes.

"Sam," his voice was steady and calm. "I need you to tell me what happened."

Sam swallowed and glanced at Dean as he sat down on the edge of the bed and took one of his hands.

"It's important Sammy."

"I went out into town today," he began, finally calming down completely, although his voice still shook slightly. He swiped at the tears that were drying on his cheeks. "When I was coming home it felt like someone...something was watching me. So I came back here and...I did everything you said dad. I salted the entrances, and I even put protective charms on the doorways and window sills. And I didn't go out at night, I swear!"

John smoothed a hand over his hair and pressed a brief kiss to his temple.

"I believe you, Sam. What happened next?"

Sam haltingly relayed the night's events to his father, aware that Dean was watching and listening intently beside him.

"Okay," John nodded eventually. "Dean, I want you to stay here with Sammy. I'm going to go have a look around."

Sam felt himself be shifted over to Dean, who automatically wrapped his arms around him. He turned his face into his brother's chest and breathed in the familiar scent of his brother; warm leather, sweat and the sandalwood soap that he used.

"Hey there Sammy," Dean whispered into his hair.

"Hey Dean."

"What's all this, eh? You gonna let a measly spirit get you down?" he chided gently as he rubbed his back soothingly. "You could have taken it easy."

Sam pulled back suddenly, needing him to understand. "No, Dean! It wasn't like that! It was like it was...I tried to be brave! I don't know why..." he stammered out desperately.

Dean looked slightly alarmed by his out burst. He automatically reached out and pulled Sammy close again.

"I didn't mean it like that Sammy. I know you tried. That's all anyone could ask for," Dean murmured.

Sam rested his head against Dean again, as more tears slipped free and trickled down his cheeks.

"Dad's gonna be mad at me isn't he? Cause I wasn't brave like you. I tried though, Dean. I really did."

Dean was looking at something over Sammy's head, but he answered him slowly.

"No, Sammy, he won't. He's just glad you're okay. Now why don't we get you in bed, hm? It's been a rough night for you and you need to rest."

Sam could hear his father outside talking to someone, presumably on his cell, so he nodded and let Dean help him get ready for bed.

Dean pulled the covers up to his chin and ran his fingers though Sam's hair once more.

"It's okay now, Sammy. I'm not gonna go anywhere."

Sam could feel sleep tugging insistently at his mind, but he forced his eyes to stay open for a moment longer.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I'm sorry about yesterday. You know I didn't mean it right?" he asked worried, despite his exhaustion.

He felt a gentle kiss brush his forehead, and Dean's fingers stroking his hair once more.

"Of course I do. I'm sorry too, Sammy. Now go to sleep. I'm right here if you need me."

Sam nodded, before letting his eyes drift closed.

-

Dean looked down at his sleeping brother and resisted the urge to climb into bed with him and hold him as he had done when Sammy was younger and suffering from horrifying nightmares. Today had been another nightmare for Sammy, and Dean wished more than anything that he could have been there for him.

When he had busted through that door and found Sammy curled up in the corner of the shower huddled and sobbing he had felt his heart break a little. Never had he seen his dad as scared as he had been at that moment when he looked upon his terrified son.

Dean glanced outside to where his dad stood in the shadows, talking in low tones to Pastor Jim. This had been a rough night for all of them. The hunt had not gone as expected. The ghoul they had tracked down turned out to be more of a slippery bastard than they had anticipated. It had taken them longer to find it and they hadn't been able to kill it. After wasting many hours and precious resources, they had agreed to retire for the time being. It had left his father irritated and restless.

Dean knew that the fight earlier had taken more out of his father than he had first thought. John hated leaving Sam behind. It went against all of his instincts, he knew. But he also knew that he had no choice. Sam wasn't ready yet. Dean had been hunting for years when he was Sam's age. But it was different for Sam. In their hearts, Dean and John Winchester knew that Sam wasn't cut out to be a hunter. It didn't come naturally to him as it did to Dean and John. He was intrinsically gentle and kind hearted, without a mean bone in his body.

Dean had watched his father that afternoon as he stood at the window and watched Sam run those laps around the field. Never had he looked so tired. He knew that when it came to Sam, his dad was at a loss. He had to be tough to get Sammy to learn things that Dean knew instinctively, and while it broke his heart to be so hard towards his youngest, John had no choice.

Dean could see it but Sam couldn't. And Dean could do nothing but watch the chasm between their dad and Sam widen with each harsh word spoken.

Tonight had been different. Sam had been shaken to his core and now things would be different, Dean knew. Now Sam would understand why he had to train harder than Dean.

At least he hoped he would.

Their dad had closed his phone, and Dean looked up as he re-entered the room. John glanced at Sam sleeping peacefully on the bed and frowned.

"Did you find anything out there?"

John shook his head as he bolted the door and knelt to draw the salt line.

"Nothing. Not a single trace of anything. Makes me wonder if there even was anything here and if Sammy was just overreacting," John murmured.

"Sammy wouldn't do that dad," Dean protested, sitting on the end of Sam's bed. "You know that he wouldn't."

John sighed and stripped off his jacket, hanging it on the hook next to Dean's.

"Yeah I know. Besides, Jim vouched for him. Said he heard noises over the phone."

"What kind of noises?"

"Heard the windows and...howling, wailing something like that. If there's one thing that man knows, its spirits," John said heavily.

"So what do we do now?" Dean asked, needing reassurance from his father that he would do something to prevent this from happening again.

"Afraid we gotta bail on this hunt, Dean-o," John said regretfully. "We'll head to Jim's place, and stay there for awhile. "

Dean nodded, satisfied with the course of action his father had chosen. After all, family always came first and Sammy was at the heart of their small family.

-

John woke them early the next morning. Both boys were groggy, and Dean was less then happy about getting woken up at six in the morning after a tiring hunt, but he got up without complaint. Dean and John let Sam sleep while they packed up the car, before John woke him and bundled the sleepy thirteen year old into the back seat of the Impala before they checked out of the holiday park and hit the road.

John was on edge, and the silence in the car was making him tenser than it should have. Dean was half asleep in the front seat, looking out the window and humming quietly under his breath. John looked in the rearview mirror to where Sam was stretched out on the back seat of the car. He still looked pale, and his tousled hair made him look like he hadn't just slept for eight hours straight. He looked younger in his sleep, and infinitely more vulnerable. Last night had opened John's eyes to the fact that his youngest was barely even a teenager- still a kid really- and less able to fend off the things that they hunted.

He had a tendency to overlook that fact now that Dean was older. The age difference between the boys was larger than John remembered- because Dean was so grown up now, he often mistakenly assumed that Sam was too.

No chance of that happening again, John told himself silently. What he needed to do was get Sammy somewhere truly safe.

It had been stupid to leave him alone in the first place, and John was kicking himself for the decision. Dean hadn't liked it one bit, but he hadn't said a word besides a few tentative suggestions, and he hadn't listened. He almost wished that Dean was more forceful in the way he stood up to John. While he appreciated the fact that Dean always followed orders like he was supposed to, he also knew that independence wasn't a bad thing. Yes, Dean could and would handle any situation with natural born skill, but John knew that even leaders needed to be kicked in the ass sometimes and put in line.

He had a sneaking suspicion that Sam would take on the role one day, but at the moment he had no one to do that for him. Which was why they were heading to pastor Jims. The older man would know what to do. He would see that Sammy was okay, maybe say a few blessings over him or something of the like, just to make sure.

John glanced in the mirror again just to assure himself that Sam was really okay.

"He'll be fine dad," Dean said quietly, also looking back at Sammy. "He's a strong kid."

"I know. But he's not ready to face this kind of thing yet. I should've known better," John said, clenching the steering wheel tightly in his hand.

Dean sat up a little and John could feel him looking at him. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, not wanting to meet his oldest eyes and see his own guilt reflected back at him.

"There's no way either of us could have known..."

"I know, Dean!" John cut him off, more sharply than he had intended. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice, mindful of the sleeping boy in the back seat. "I know Dean. That's why it isn't going to happen again. Not ever."

John frowned, an idea forming in his mind.

"Dad?" Dean asked, his voice hesitant now. "What're you...I mean, what are you going to do?"

John glanced at his son, and cursed Dean's ability to read him as well as he could. His lips tightened as ideas began to turn over in his mind.

"I don't know yet, son. You may as well go back to sleep. We've a ways to go yet," John told him, effectively closing the conversation.

Dean was frowning next to him, but after a few minutes silence, he hunched back down in the passenger seat and rested his head against the door, closing his eyes.

John exhales, a heavy feeling of guilt settling in his gut.

Before him, the road stretched out as far as he could see, but for once it brought him little comfort.

-

"Hey boy-wonder, open those baby blues. It's breakfast time."

Sam sat up and rubbed at his eyes, frowning at the mid-morning light. Dean prodded him once more and he swatted at his hands irritably.

"Dean?"

"Right in one, kiddo. Now haul ass, I'm hungry," he replied, shoved his door open and swinging his legs out as he stretched.

For a moment, Sam wondered where the hell they were. His father was leaning against the hood of the Impala, talking on his cell.

"Where the hell are we?" Sam asked, easing his stiff body into an upright position. He felt almost fragile, like every movement was jarring his bones. His head felt like in would splinter into fragments if he moved it. Sam winced as he felt the beginnings of a headache. He had never been a good traveler as a kid, and he had thought he was finally growing out of it. But sleeping in the Impala always left him feeling...gritty somehow.

Dean frowned at him.

"Watch your mouth, Sammy. Dad would have my hide if he heard you talking with that mouth."

"Your hide?" Sam couldn't contain his snort. "Why would he have yours when he could have mine?"

"Who do you think you learned it from?" Dean grinned, and stood up. "Now get your ass out here. I'm ready to feed the beast."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean patted his belly, but did as he was told, sliding gingerly out of the back seat and joining his brother in the parking lot of a crowded Mc Donald's. He frowned up at the garishly bright red and yellow signage.

"Don't scowl like that. You'll frighten the little kids." Dean punched his arm lightly and started towards the sliding doors with Sam at his side.

"Shut it Dean." Sam grumbled, as his stomach rumbled unpleasantly.

"Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?" Dean raised an eyebrow at him, and Sam shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans. "I forgot you were so grumpy in the mornings."

Sam refused to comment, looking away to his left instead. He really wasn't feeling well, like he was greasy, coated in some sort of invisible dirt that wouldn't go away. Last night had been...he suppressed a shudder as he remembered it all in nightmarish detail.

He was just glad they were leaving that place behind. He was relieved that their father had stuffed them into the car and taken off. Such flighty behavior wasn't unusual for John Winchester. In fact it was commonplace for people in their profession. Sam had never liked the way they picked up and left at the drop of a hat, but he was grateful for it this time.

But the uneasy feeling hadn't left him. He didn't feel safe anymore, not even with Dean at his side. Until they were back on the road and speeding as far away from that place as possible once more, Sam knew the feeling would persist.

"Sam?"

Dean was trying to get his attention, and Sam realized that they were standing in line and waiting to be served. Dean waved a hand in front of his face.

"I said, what do you want for breakfast?" Dean asked impatiently, a frown on his face.

Sam blinked at him "Oh...uh, I'll have whatever you're having."

He shifted under Dean's sharp gaze, but refused to meet his eye.

"What's wrong Sam? Didn't sleep well?"

Sam's eyes shot to his brother's face, searching for some sign of teasing, or mockery. He found nothing but concern on the 17 year olds face and he relaxed minutely.

"No...it's nothing. I'm fine."

"It's okay if you're not, Sammy. Last night wasn't fun for any of us."

Dean was frowning again, his eyes taking on a far away look that meant he was worried about something. Sam nudged him as the line moved up and they stepped forward.

"Really, I'm fine Dean," Sam insisted quietly. "But...did dad say anything to you? He's not...mad at me is he?"

Sam bit his lip and waited for Dean to look at him. When he finally did, his green eyes were troubled, and Sam felt the bite of nervousness in the centre of his chest.

"No, Sam. He's not mad at you." Dean hesitated before pasting a false smile on the fooled neither of them. "But he will be if we don't bring him his coffee."

Sam knew then that something wasn't right.

TBC


	3. Splintered

Disclaimer: (Forgot to add this in the last chapters!) None of the characters of Supernatural belong to me. It makes me cry at night...

Authors notes are at the end. Thanks for the reviews folks! Appreciate it!

* * *

Part Three: _Splintered_

-

_I'll sing for you_

_If you want me to_

_Ill give to you_

_And its a chance ill have to take_

_And its a chance ill have to break_

- Luna by the Smashing Pumpkins

-

The silence in the car was so thick that it made Sam feel even more nauseous than he had been. In fact, he was only able to finish half his Mc Muffin and one of the hash browns. The orange juice was gone in a flash because the drive had made him thirsty.

The scent of their father's black coffee permeated the Impala; Sam inhaled the scent of it and tried to calm himself down. The nauseous feeling in his stomach refused to go away, and the headache pounded at his temples and stabbed behind his eyes. The sunlight was too bright for his sensitive eyes, and only served to worsen the headache. Sam felt like he wanted to crawl under the biggest, darkest rock he could find and not come out for at least a year.

Dean was in the front seat stuffing his face with his enormous breakfast as he read one of his comic books and their dad was frowning at the concentrated on the road. Sam knew better than to disturb him when he was in such a mood. He tapped Dean's shoulder and silently offered his the remains of his breakfast.

Dean looked at it, then looked at him, frowning.

"Don't you want it?"

Sam shook his head wordlessly.

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I ate some of it. I'm just not hungry anymore."

Dean snorted. "I don't want leftovers that you've slobbered all over."

"I didn't slobber on it," Sam defended, but his heart wasn't in it, and they both knew it.

"Whatever. I don't want it either." Dean said, grabbing the Mc Muffin from Sam's hand and tossing it out the window. A passing driver honked their horn angrily and Dean gave him the finger.

"Dean," John said, frowning. "How many times do I have to tell you..."

"I know, I know," Dean interrupted, good-naturedly as he settled back down to read his magazines.

Sam jumped when Dean silently offered his own orange juice over the seat. Sam hesitated before he took it, and began to sip at the straw.

"Sam."

He looked up and met his father's eyes in the rear view mirror.

"Find something to do that doesn't involve arguing with your brother."

"Yes sir."

Sam scowled slightly, but wasn't feeling up to starting an argument with his father, so he picked up his book and started to read, absentmindedly chewing on the straw of Dean's juice as he did so.

Sam had first met Pastor Jim when he was six. He wasn't sure exactly how long his father had known the kind minister of the small church in Blue Earth, Minnesota, but back then it hadn't mattered much. He remembered watching his father shake hands with the kind-faced pastor as Dean helped him out of the car.

At first he'd been shy, and afraid of Jim, hiding behind his father's legs and clutching Dean's hand. But it hadn't taken him long to come out of his shell. It seemed that Jim and himself were kindred spirits with a thirst for learning and an unending curiosity. And Jim had a kitten, one which he had rescued on a rainy night from the cold and the wet. Sam had always had a fondness for animals, and Jim had let him look after the tiny thing.

Blue Earth was a relatively quiet town in Minnesota, surrounded by rolling farm land and strands of woodland that lent it a peaceful air. The church was located on the edge of town, concealed by a stretch of woodland that was owned by the church.

Dean and himself had often been left in the care of the pastor, and it was Jim who had taught them Latin, and about god and all things holy. Dean had quickly become disenchanted with the idea of god, cynical even, but for Sam the awe that Jim had inspired in those days had never quite left him. There were times when he was down, or worried about Dean or his dad that he caught himself praying for them.

It had taken them two solid days of driving to reach Blue Earth, with Dean and John switching over frequently so the other could rest.

Sam still felt uneasy, and unwell and he had kept quiet for most of the journey, sleeping or trying to read. He had answered questions that had been directed at him, but hadn't spoken otherwise. No matter how much sleep he got, he still felt tired.

There had been a strange tenseness between the three of them since that night, and Sam couldn't help but feel responsible. He knew that he had in some way let down his father, and he was still waiting for the rebuke that never came and the anticipation left him on edge. So when the car eventually wound its way up the road that led to the church, the sense of dawning relief was almost palpable in the atmosphere.

Jim came down the steps of the church and smiled at them as they all wearily climbed out of the car.

He hugged Sam tightly and Sam inhaled the much loved scent of dusty books and herbs that he associated with the Pastor.

"How's everything?" he asked, releasing Sam and sweeping his sharp eyes over them all.

John smiled tightly at him. "As well as can be expected, all things considered."

"All things considered." Jim repeated as he shook his fathers hand. "Why don't you all come inside? There's dinner waiting to be eaten. I sent Caleb into town for some supplies but he shouldn't be too long."

"Caleb's here?" John asked, surprised.

"Yeah. I caught wind of a possible hunt a few towns over, and he came to get some information. I figured you two would want to catch up as well, so I invited him to stay for a few days."

John turned to follow Jim up the stairs.

"Unload the car boys. Usual rooms, Jim?"

"I'm afraid you'll be sharing with Caleb but I'm sure that won't be a problem will it?"

"Oh lord help us, no one will be getting any sleep," John grumbled when he saw Dean's grin.

Sam couldn't help but smile slightly at his brothers enthusiasm to see Caleb. The young hunter was in his mid twenties, and had been a part of both their childhoods. Dean and Caleb in particular were close and spent every moment that they were in each others presence arguing about anything and everything, and finding ways to piss each other off.

Dean and Sam often lapsed into periods of pranking and revenge against each other, and it was from Caleb they learnt most of their craftiness, much to John's exasperation.

Sam had often become the target for Dean and Caleb's combined efforts to annoy, and usually the thought of having the two in a room together would never fail to put fear in his heart, but he was too tired and nauseous to even worry about that now.

Dean helped him lug all of their stuff into their shared room but when Caleb's truck pulled up in front of the church he disappeared in a flash. Sam sat down on the trundle bed for a moment to regain his equilibrium. If anything, Sam was feeling even worse, the headache building in intensity over the journey until even the slightest movement of his head caused his vision to blur and bile to rise in his throat.

And he had never felt so weak. When he held his hands out in front of him, they trembled uncontrollably. Sam tucked them into the armpits and stood up slowly, wincing as his head viciously protested the movement. While he wanted nothing more than to sleep, he knew that his dad wouldn't be pleased.

So he made his way downstairs, avoiding the sound of his father and Jim in the kitchen talking in low tones, and Caleb's laughter and Dean's smirking voice in the lounge. Instead he slipped down the hallway that led to the church.

Pastor Jim's house was attached to the small church, and Sam had always loved to sit in the pews and look at the stained glass windows. Jim always had candles burning for some reason, and he knew that the church was blessed and protected with all sorts of wards and charms that only people who lead lives like theirs knew of.

It was shadowed and quiet in the church and Sam shivered at the sudden coolness, grateful for a moment to himself for once. Another disadvantage of being on the road all the time was lack of time to oneself, he had found. And in his family, that was a precious commodity if one was to maintain his sanity.

He raised his eyes to windows and smiled faintly, remembering a time when Dean had tried to scare him with tales of the mournful looking people in the windows. He had never been scared. Right now, they seemed to be a reflection of the tiredness in his soul, the bone-aching need to sleep so strong that his head felt muzzy with the need.

He half collapsed onto the front pew and rubbed his forehead as the headache receded slightly.

Churches were holy ground- nothing evil could tread upon blessed ground and finally, Sam felt like he was sheltered. That sense of being watched had never truly left him, and it was perhaps more draining than the constant nausea he was experiencing. He heard the side door he had entered through open and close quietly and he looked up to see Jim and his father approaching. A sense of dread washed through him almost immediately, and he began to stand but found he didn't have the strength.

His father looked grim and tired, and Jim smiled at him reassuringly.

"There's no need to look so apprehensive, Sam. We just want to talk." J

Jim sat down next to him, but Sam watched his father who had wandered over to the podium and was looking up at the windows as he had done.

"About what?"

"You father told me what happened. We believe it was a spirit, but we could find no trace of anything unusual in the area, no strange deaths. Nor any cursed ground. Is there anything you remember, anything at all that was significant about the incident that could help us?" Jim asked gently.

Sam swallowed and frowned, thinking. He felt the fear begin to rear its ugly head, but he pushed it back and thought over everything that had happened.

"No nothing. Just that it felt like I was being watched. I don't know of anything that does that. Do you?"

John turned to face them. "Neither do we. Are you sure that there was definitely something there? "

Hurt flashed through Sam like a whiplash and he glared at him.

"Of course I'm sure! I didn't make this up! Why would I?" he looked between his father and Jim. "You believe me don't you?"

John stayed silent, his jaw tightening as he looked away once more. Jim patted him on the shoulder.

"I know you wouldn't, Sam, but there's no evidence..."

"No evidence?! I was there! I know what happened! Why won't you believe me!"

Anger had lent Sam a burst of energy that he hadn't known he had possessed, and he was on his feet facing his father.

"Just because I don't know as much as you and Dean it doesn't mean I know nothing!" he shouted.

John whipped his head around to glare at him. "Mind your tone, boy! And mind your manners! You're a guest here, and you'll show Jim the respect he's due."

"Perhaps if we..." Jim began.

"Since when has that ever held you back?" Sam bit out, angry tears filling his eyes. "I'm not lying!"

"I said mind your tongue! I won't say it again!" John snapped back.

For a moment, disbelief filled Sam. A few nights ago, John had believed him. Hell, Dean had believed him. A fury so strong filled him that he thought he would burst. Tears spilled down his hot cheeks and for a moment, all he could do was glare at his father before he ran.

"SAM! Get back here! We're not done talking!"

Sam ignored his father and fled the church, running all the way up through the house and up the stairs to the room he shared with Dean. He slammed the door and threw himself down on the bed face first, giving in to the sobs that were tearing at his throat to get out.

The angry, furious tears scalded his cheeks but he did nothing to stop them, just buried his face in his pillow and cried until he feel asleep, feeling raw and bruised on the inside.

Breakfast the next morning was a tense affair. John looked irritated, and he barely spoke a word to Sam all morning. Caleb and Dean talked quietly together at the other end, and a part of Sam was glad that they had decided to leave him alone for once. Another part of him was hurt that Dean had decided to let him battle this one out alone. Dean was his protector, the negotiator of their dysfunctional family, and Sam couldn't help but feel abandoned by his disinterest in what was happening between him and their father.

Jim smiled warmly at him as he buttered a bread roll, and Sam managed a weak smile back.

"How are your studies coming along, Sam? Did you read those books I suggested?" he asked kindly.

Sam nodded. "I did."

"What did you think about the..." Jim began but Dean rolled his eyes and cut in.

"Please, Jim. Don't keep filling his head with all that crap. Who do you think has to listen to it day in and day out?"

"Dean, watch your mouth," John said sharply, not looking up from the paper.

"Yes sir." Dean said, grinning at Sam. Sam scowled at him.

"Anyway," Caleb cleared his throat hesitantly as he glanced John and then Jim. "Don't you think we should get started soon?"

Dean's interest was piqued immediately.

"Started on what?"

John folded the newspaper and glared at Dean, who shrugged nonchalantly. Jim sighed and put his knife down. Sam shifted nervously when he noticed Caleb watching him intently.

"A ritual, Dean, and one you will have no part in," John said wearily as if knowing he was in for a fight.

"What? Why?" Dean was immediately put off. John glared at him once more, and Dean backed off a little.

"It's a cleansing ritual," Jim put in. "For Sam."

Sam sat up straight, and Dean looked concerned.

"But...Why?" Sam could barely get his mind around the concept. "You...You think I'm possessed?" he realised shakily. John stood up.

"It's a chance we can't take, Sammy. We need to be sure," he said heavily.

Caleb stood up and slipped quietly out of the room as Jim began to clean up the kitchen inconspicuously.

"But...I'm not possessed, Dad," Sam began desperately.

"Yeah dad. I think..." Dean glanced at him looking upset. "We would have noticed."

"It's not just to make sure he's not possessed." Jim told them quietly. "It's to cleanse his spirit as well. To make sure that there's nothing that could connect him to a spirit of any kind."

"It's to make sure he'd not being haunted by a spirit for some reason that we don't know about." John added, his irritation lessening as he looked at Sam.

"Haunted?" Dean looked startled. "But he hasn't..."

"Dean!" John barked suddenly, and Dean jumped. "I know, okay? But it's better than nothing. Call it insurance, call it any damn thing you want but it's going to happen and its going to happen now."

John turned to Sam, who shrank back. John crouched in front of him.

"I know you don't like this, Sammy. But we have no other choice. I'm sorry." he said softly. "I just want to make sure that you're okay."

Sam stared at his father for a long moment, unable to believe the words that he had just heard come out of his mouth. It made sense, in a strange way. And if his father was so worried...

"Will it hurt?" he whispered.

"No, Sammy. It'll just be you and me." Jim crouched down on his other side and smiled warmly at him. Nothing to worry about. Your dad and Caleb will be in the background to make sure nothing bad happens to you."

Sam swallowed and attempted a cocky smile. "I'm not a baby, you know."

Dean smiled shakily at his from the other end of the table.

"You're not going to faint over there are you?" Sammy laughed weakly.

"Not on your life, Sam-o. Someone's got to stick around to save your scrawny ass."

"Come on then," John stood up, suddenly all business. "Lets get this over with then."

Sam got to his feet and looked uncertainly up at his father then at Dean.

"I'll be right there with you Sammy," Dean said softly. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"You'd better not," Sam muttered. "Keep your eyes on Caleb. No permanent markers or shaving cream, got it?"

Dean grinned as he feel instep beside him. Jim and John were leading the way into the church where Caleb was already waiting.

Dean took Sam's hand and gave it a squeeze. "You'll be fine, Sam. Trust me."

"I do," he whispered, squeezing back. Dean let go and went to join Caleb at the back of the church. John's broad hand fell on Sam's shoulder and he looked up at his father uncertainly.

"Suck it up son. You listen to Jim and do everything he tells you to. Got it?"

A little hurt by John's words, Sam could do nothing but nod. His father left to join Dean and Sam couldn't hope but notice the gun in the back of his jeans.

Swallowing, he blinked back his tears and turned to Jim who wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"What do I do?"

Jim smiled at him as he drew him towards the stone podium at the front of the church. Upon it lay a pure white cloth, two gold candle sticks complete with slender white candles which were lit, a bible and a golden goblet.

On the floor before the podium a protection circle was drawn in chalk on the stone.

"It's just going to be you and me up here. They can't hear us back there, so you don't need to worry about that."

Sam nodded.

"Now first of all we're going to kneel in this circle here, and we're going to pray together."

Sam did as he was told and knelt beside the Pastor numbly.

"You remember the Lords Prayer, Sam?" Jim asked gently.

"Yeah."

"Let's pray together in Latin. You remember that don't you?"

"As if dad would let me forget," Sam snorted quietly and Jim smiled at the show of bravado.

"Okay then. Whenever you're ready, Sam."

Sam rested his hands on his thighs and bowed his head.

"Pater noster, " he began, his voice trembling and barely above a whisper. "Qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum."

As he spoke in sync with Jim, he felt the tears run unchecked down his face but he did nothing to wipe them away. Before him, coloured light from the windows spilled over the stone and he focused on the oddly beautiful display as he spoke.

"Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen."

He couldn't help but feel like he was condemned. Stained by what had happened, like it was his fault and he could barely contain the misery that caused.

"You still speak beautiful Latin, Sam. Let's get the rest of this out of the way shall we? "

Sam nodded wordlessly, and braced himself for whatever the next blow would be.

* * *

_Translation: _OUR Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

AN: Please note that i have no idea what Blue Earth, Minnesota is really like, so i've adapted it to suit my needs for this story! I have, however, looked at satellite imaging and from what i can tell, it's as accurate as its going to get. (I don't live in America, so i really have no idea about social norms and the like)

And the latin used in this chapter is taken from the internet, so i'm not sure how accurate it is either. I will be using bits and peiced of latin from time to time, so i will always try to provide an accurate translations.

Any questions, queries or suggestions can be directed to me via PMing/emailing or reviewing (HINT HINT!)


	4. Say You Believe in Me

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything…although I wish I own Sam,….and Dean for that matter….

A/N: Im not christian or any religion for that matter. So I have no clue about religious customs or anything, besides what I see in the movies/ on television. Forgive me if I made any mistakes!

Oh, and I have no idea why Jim became a Pastor in the first place. Just thought I'd point out the obvious! Thanks for the reviews, people! Enjoy!

Part Four: _Say you believe in me__  
_

_How many loved your moments of grace_

_And loved your beauty with love false or true_

_But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you_

_And loved the sorrows of your changing face_

_- When you are old, WB Yeats_

_- _

Dean could feel his heart pounding painfully in his chest as Sam knelt with the pastor in the circle. He could hear the soft sound of their combined voiced murmuring in Latin and he clenched his hands wordlessly.

This wasn't right. There was no way Sammy was possessed. He would know, wouldn't he? He had practically raised Sammy, had grown up with him, taught him everything he knew. In the kitchen when those pained eyes had met his, all he could see was the baby he had once held, the four year old clutching his hand when he started walking, the six year old whose eyes had been alight with curiosity. The ten year old laughing, the thirteen year olds unhappy eyes as he had left on countless hunts with his father.

A strong hand fell on his shoulder, and he knew wordlessly that it was Caleb. A part of him was furious at his father; shouldn't he be the one offering comfort? Shouldn't he be the one who was infuriated at the mere idea that his son was possessed?

He knew about the fight that had happened last night. He had heard Sammy crying in their room, but he had done nothing to comfort him as he usually did and the guilt of that bit at him like a rabid dog.

And now Sammy was acting like he had been condemned to death by the very people who loved him. He was one of those people. He should be down there with him.

Caleb bent down to speak in his ear as the pastor got to his feet.

"Keep it together Dean-o. Sammy's a strong kid. He'll get through this just fine," he murmured.

Dean said nothing. He kept his eyes riveted on Sammy's kneeling form, whose head was bent as he stared fixedly at the ground.

Coloured light from the churches windows washed over the still form of his baby brother, and Dean felt like taking him in his arms and protecting him from everything the way he had done when he was younger.

Sam was his entire world. He didn't know what he'd do if something happened to Sam but he knew that a large piece of his heart would be gone.

The Pastor said a few inaudible words to Sam, who nodded and stayed where he was. He watched as Jim left the circle and walked around the stone podium to where a book lay open.

Jim picked it up and stood in front of Sam once more. At John's tight nod, he began to speak quietly, though the Latin words of the ritual rang true and clear within the quiet confines of the church.

"This isn't right," Dean whispered, his throat tight.  
"But it's necessary. For all of our sakes," John's gravel voice replied. "So keep quiet and be ready."

"In case he's possessed you mean?" Dean asked defiantly.

"That's exactly what I mean. I don't like this any more than you do so cut me a bit of slack will you?" John's voice was quiet, and there was an odd hitch to it that made Dean look at him in alarm. His father's eyes were fixated on Sam though.

"We're doing this to save him, Dean, not condemn him."

Dean turned his head to watch as Jim continued to ritual. Sam remained still, but Dean began to pick up on signs of his discomfort almost immediately.

The tensing of his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head and the very slight restless twitching were signs that Dean had been able to read since he was a toddler.

The all of a sudden, Sam groaned and slumped over onto his side struggling for breath. And before he knew it, Dean had shaken off Caleb's restraining hand and was racing towards him. He skidded to a halt and crashed to his knees just outside of the circle.

"Sammy? Sammy can you hear me?"

With another pained groan, Sam slowly rolled towards him, somehow managing to keep within the chalk circle.

"Look at me Sammy!" Dean begged desperately. "What's wrong?"

"Hurts," was the whispered reply. "It hurts..."

Sammy grey eyes were clouded with pain, and squeezed them shut with a whimper.

"Make it stop, Dee..."

Dean's heart wrenched at the use of Sammy's nickname for him. It was what he had called Dean when he was first learning to talk, and he occasionally still used it when he was afraid or in pain.

"I can't, Sammy," Dean replied, his voice trembling. "It'll be over soon, I promise."

He looked up at Jim, who was watching them as he spoke and then back down to Sammy, who was sprawled on the floor now with his eyes closed and his brow wrinkled with pain.

"Just breathe Sammy. It'll be okay, you'll see."

And suddenly, Jim had finished. He knelt down in front of Sam and touched his chest slightly as Dean grabbed his hand.

"Sam, can you open your eyes for me?" Jim asked softly.

Sam did as he was asked, slits of grey blue appearing under his half open eyelids.

John and Caleb joined them, and John slid to his knees beside his youngest. Dean watched as he gathered Sam close and looked at the Pastor.

"I thought you said it wouldn't be painful," he accused, narrowing his eyes at Jim.

"It wasn't supposed to be," his replied, resting his hands on his thighs. "The only reason it would have been painful was if he was..."

"A psychic," Caleb finished. "Like me."

"A psychic?" Dean asked shocked. "But Sammy's not..."

"Sammy's not a psychic," John stated firmly. "So why did it hurt him?"

"You're right," Jim said. "He's not. But he is sensitive. Slightly empathic to anything supernatural and I have no idea why or how, but there it is."

"So what was it?" Dean asked shakily, laying his hand on Sam's forehead. "He wasn't possessed right? So what was it?"

"I'm still not sure. But whatever it was, it's gone now." Jim replied grimly. "It left it's fingerprints though. But nothing evil let me assure you."

"He's been cleansed then?"

Jim nodded and stroked a hand over Sam's hair. "Yes. And he did very well. He was very brave."

Sam seemed to rouse a little then and John hugged him tighter.

"You're okay Sammy. Let's get you to bed hey? Then you can rest," John murmured into his hair. Deans heart was in his throat when he met his fathers eyes and was witness to the despair in his eyes. It made him wonder yet again what his ideas were for keeping Sammy safe.

-

Dean watched Sam sleep. His younger brother was lying on his stomach, his arms curled into his chest and his face turned towards Dean. Long, unruly brown hair fell in gentle waves over his forehead, and his long dark eyelashes rested on lightly freckled cheeks.

Dean also lay on his stomach beside Sam, watching the slow rise and fall of Sam's back as he breathed and feeling the gentle fanning of his warm breath.

Even as he rested peacefully, Dean could almost feel the turmoil that plagued Sam. Sam was a dreamer, despite being so much like their father. Sam was everything that John Winchester could have been, and probably was once in the long distant past. Dean would fight to protect everything in Sam that made him so different and so special.

It was worth protecting.

Sammy slept on, and Dean stayed by his side.

-

Dean was woken early in the afternoon by Caleb shaking his shoulder gently.

"Get your ass up Dean. You need to get downstairs."

"What?" Dean groaned. "Why?"

"You father...just get up. And don't wake Sam."

Caleb left silently, and Dean buried his face in the pillow for a moment before glancing at Sam. He was still sleeping peacefully; he'd turned on his side to face Dean sometime during the afternoon.

With a quiet groan, Dean pushed himself up and got off the bed, stumbled out into the hallway.

Raised voices could be heard downstairs, and with a frown, Dean went downstairs and into the kitchen.

His father's bags were pack and sitting on the kitchen table as he argued in quiet tones with Jim. Caleb was sitting at the breakfast bar and polishing his guns, following the argument in silence. When Dean appeared in the doorway, John abruptly stopped talking.

"What's going on?" Dean asked as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. "Dad?"

John turned to face him, his eyes hard and his jaw set.

"Go pack your things Dean. We're leaving."

"What? Why, what's going on?" Dean asked, frowning as he glanced at Jim. The Pastor was unusually serious looking.

"John, please. I beg you to reconsider. This could be the worse choice to pick..."

"My minds made up, Jim. We're leaving. Dean I gave you an order."

"Maybe he's right, Johnny. It's not a good idea." Caleb spoke up as he glanced at Dean with a troubled look.

John turned to him. "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Dean, why are you still standing there?"

"I'll go get Sammy up and we'll start packing." Dean turned to go.

"No Dean. We're leaving Sammy here."

He turned to face his father, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"For how long?"

"Indefinitely."

Dean felt like someone had sucker punched him in the gut.

"What? You can't be serious."

"Do I look like I'm joking? It's the best thing we can do for him now, Dean. You know as well as I do it's not safe for him anymore. At least this way he'll have a home at last."

Dean gaped at him dumbfounded. Surely he couldn't be serious. Sam was...

"You can't do this! You can't just abandon him! He's your son and he loves you! He needs you, god damnit!" Dean suddenly shouted, feeling tears spill down his cheeks.

He couldn't lose Sammy. He couldn't imagine his life without having Sam beside him, without having his grumpy face in the morning, or without being able to make him smile or laugh.

Sam was the spark that kept John and Dean going, and now they were just going to walk out on him.

"You think I want to leave my baby behind?" John asked hoarsely. "God Dean...this isn't the life I wanted for either of you but Sam? Sam doesn't belong to this life like we do. He's doesn't have what it takes. It's better this way."

"Is that what you're going to tell him?" Dean demanded. "That he's not good enough? That he doesn't live up to your expectations? That'll go down well! What he needs is his father! He needs me!"

"Sam isn't like us, Dean. He doesn't need to see the things that we do. To know what we do." John was being unusually calm and accepting of Dean rebellion and if anything it only served to worsen Dean's anger and despair. It meant that his father's mind wouldn't be changed and Dean felt like he was being torn in two.

"He's right." Caleb spoke up. "But I don't think leaving him is the best idea, John."

"I don't have any other choice," John said wearily. "Its for his own good._"_

"NO! You can't make me leave him. Let me stay here with him. I'll teach him everything he needs to know. You know that I can. Let me at least try."

"No Dean. I need you with me. I need your help. I promise we'll visit him as often as we can, but we need to get going. I don't want to leave him either, but we have no choice. We need to give him a chance to have his own life. One that's safe and doesn't involve hunting. Now...go and get your stuff together. I want to be packed before we wake Sam." John turned away, and Dean could see his shoulders droop as he gripped a chair in his hands and hung his head.

And there it was. Dean had a duty to both his father and to Sammy, and yet again he was being torn between the two. Forced to pick and then forced to try and heal wounds that he had no power to prevent. It made him slightly bitter, the way they pulled at him like two stray dogs fighting over a bone.

"I'll send you money for his upkeep whenever I can," John said quietly to Jim.

"You don't need to do that," Jim replied. "I have more than enough to share."

In a horrible way it made sense to Dean. Sam could have a chance at normal life if he stayed. He could go to one school, make friends. He wouldn't have to worry about where his next meal came from, or where he was going to sleep.

But it broke Dean's heart. And it was breaking his fathers heart as well. Sam was everything that they fought to protect in others. He was an example of all the good things in the world, and Dean would do anything to see that he remained uncorrupted by the evil they faced. But he didn't want to leave him.

He wiped the tears from his face with swift, jerky movements and left the room without another word.

-

"Dad? What's going on?" Sam asked, confused as he looked around him. Caleb was standing by his truck with his arms crossed and his eyes on the ground. Jim was on the steps of the church and Dean was standing behind his father, his eyes red and his face averted.

"I want you to listen to me carefully, son," John said, resting his hands on his shoulders.

Sam nodded and looked up at his father.

"You're going to stay with Jim from now on."

"Wh...But...Why? For how long."

"I don't know son. Indefinitely. Until I decide it's safe. Dean and I will call in whenever we can but I can't..."

"You're leaving me?" Sam asked shakily, looking at Dean for affirmation. But Dean swiped at his cheek and looked studiously at the ground, avoiding his eyes. "But why? What did I do?"

"Sam, listen. Are you listening to me?"

"I'm listening dad."

"You'll be safe if you stay here. You can have a normal life. I don't want you hunting. This is how it's got to be son."

"Dad, whatever it is I did, I'm sorry! I'll do better, I promise! I'll try harder!"

"Sam! I'm telling you that it's nothing you did. I'm doing this because it's necessary. Now," John paused to swallow and wipe away the tears that were running down Sam's face. "Chin up, boy. You do what Jim here tells you to and be good, okay? I'll call to check up on you as often as i can."

"Dad, please..." Sam whispered. "Why are you doing this? I said I was sorry."

"That's enough Sam." John murmured, resting his hand on Sam's head. "That's enough."

John closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to Sam's hair before he turned and went down the steps.

"Make it quick, Dean," he said gruffly.

Sam could only stare helplessly after his father until Dean moved closer.

"Sammy..."

Sam looked at him, and realised that Dean would be going too. Dean was leaving him too, and he'd be all alone. If Dean went, then he had nothing. Dean was everything ...

He threw himself into Dean's arms, feeling his strong embrace around him.

"Do something Dean! Talk to him!"

"I tried Sammy. He wouldn't listen to me," Dean whispered roughly into his hair. "I'm so sorry. I tried."

"I don't want you to leave! I need you! I said I was sorry didn't I?" Sam begged, looking up at Dean with a tear streaked face. "What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Sammy," Dean replied, his arms still around him. "It's all him."

Sam tried to hold in his despair, but the tears wouldn't stop. He buried his face in Dean's chest and sobbed with everything he had, the misery and the pain too raw and more unbearable than he ever imagined it could be.

"I love you Dean. Please stay with me.."

"I can't Sammy. I promise I'll call you every chance I get. I'm still your brother, Sam. I always will be, no matter what. I'll see you soon, I promise." Dean whispered. "I have to go Sammy."

Sam held on to Dean tightly, until Jim stepped forward and gently detangled him. Dean ran down the stairs without looking back and he flung himself into the Impala, slamming the door with far more force than necessary.

Jim pulled Sam to his side with an arm around his shoulders. And Sam watched numbly as the Impala sped away, taking with it everything that he loved in the world.

-

Jim had seen many horrible things in the world. He was a minister after all, and he'd witnessed the darkest depths of humanity. Women and children brutalised by the heavy hands of their husbands and fathers, homeless people who had once had the world in their hands and then lost it. People without hope, or love or anything in their wretched existences to ease their suffering. Tortured spirits, grieving souls so twisted by their fury and their injustices that they turned to evil to forget.

He had seen many orphans in his life, children not wanted by anyone. Children abandoned by their parents at all ages, but with Sam it struck deep at his core. Because that was essentially what had happened. John had made a decision to leave his youngest son behind, and he had walked out.

The Winchester family had more than it's fair share of problems but Jim had always known without a doubt that the love that bound them together was strong. The strongest form of love he had seen yet. It was a love forged by fire and blood and violence and it was fiercer than anything. And he had no doubt that John loved Sam beyond anything in this world. So why, why had he made such a terrible decision?

Sam's heart was broken, of that he was sure. He was numb and bleeding and broken on the inside and Jim could almost see the questions that tortured the poor boy endlessly, day in and day out.

It was obvious that the boy was lost. Lost without Dean who was his foundation and everything he had come to depend on. Betrayed, abandoned and numb.

For the next couple of days, Sam barely spoke a word. He hardly strayed from Jim's side, as though he was afraid that Jim, the last thing he had left, would leave him too. His appetite was non-existent, and he slept badly.

When he wasn't stuck to Jim's side like glue, he was sitting in the church staring up at those windows as if they would grant him the peace that he sought.

It fairly broke Jim's heart to see such suffering

The boys strength was weakening with his depleted appetite but try as he might, Jim couldn't get the boy to eat.

On the fourth day he caved and called John.

"Hello?" John's voice was rougher than usual, and Jim almost winced.

"It's me John."

There was a moments silence on the other end, filled with the noise of the Impala on whatever rough road they were travelling on.

"How is he doing?"

"I think you need to come back."

"We both know that's not going to happen, Jim."

"The boy's not eating. He's not sleeping, he's not doing anything. You've broken him, John, and it's your duty as a father to fix this. You NEED to fix this," Jim said urgently. "I know you think this is for the best, but you're not the one who had to watch that boy slowly pine himself to death, are you? Now come back before you do him, and your other son any more damage!"

John had been silent throughout Jim's speech, but he sighed heavily when he'd finished and Jim could hear him run his hand over the rough stubble on his face.

"I've got to go, Jim. Caleb and Dean are waiting for me. I'll call you back tonight, and talk to Sam okay?"

Jim sighed, knowing there was nothing more than he could do for now. "Fine. I'll talk to you later."

Jim hung up with a heavy heart, thinking that he had never been as angry as he was at that moment.

With a sigh, Jim stood and heading for the only place he knew that Sam would be.

The chapel was dark, save for the few candles that were still lit. The autumn air in the chapel was cool, and Jim ached with sympathy when he saw Sam sitting in the centre of the church, looking up at the wooden cross at the front of the church.

The boy hadn't cried since he had watched his father and brother drive off. But then, some hurts ran too deep to be justified by tears.

Jim sat down next to Sam and raised his own eyes up to the cross.

"You know, when I was your age, I didn't believe in god." Jim told him quietly. "I didn't believe in anything really."

"So how did you become a Pastor?" Sam's voice was quiet, almost inaudible, but it was a relief to hear it.

"My parents weren't religious. They were atheists in fact. I saw something one day that made me believe, and I have never looked back."

"What did you see?"

"I saw a little boy come back to life." Jim remembered quietly. "I was eighteen at the time. At a river with my family for a picnic. A boy had gotten tangled in some old fishing wire and had been dragged under. He was underwater long enough to stop breathing. By the time I'd dragged him out he was blue. The lifesavers worked on him for at least five minutes before they pronounced him."

Jim could still remember the way the boy's skin had looked, and how that chest hadn't moved. The way his eyes remained closed. He could still hear the boy's mother sobbing wretchedly in the back ground.

He could feel Sam looking at him now, and listening to him, and the relief he felt was immense. At least he had finally gotten his attention.

"So what happened?"

Jim smiled a little. "One minute he was lying there, completely still. They'd stopped working on him and were packing their things away when all of a sudden he started breathing again. Just like that. He opened his eyes and he looked at me as they fussed over him, and I had never seen a person so calm as I did for that instant. But when he was cradled in his mothers arms a few minutes later, he started crying. That was when I first started to suspect there was something bigger than us in this world.. He suffered no long term side affects. It was a miracle."

Sam nodded and was looking down at his hands.

"He thanked me for saving my life. Called me his guardian angel. I asked him if he was scared, and he said that when he had been trapped under that water, he had never been so terrified in his life. But then, right before he stopped breathing, he felt some sort of peace come over him. As if something had blessed him."

Of course it wasn't long after that that he had discovered what was really out there. And not long after that that he lost his family. Faith had been the only thing he had left, and he had to believe that they had gone to a better place. His faith had never wavered since.

Jim looked at Sam and noticed the tears that were brimming in the boys eyes, and he knew at last that he was getting somewhere.

"I know that right now it feels like you're drowning. And I know that nothing I can say will make this any easier for you. But I promise you, this won't be forever. And it won't be the last time you see your brother, or your father. This will all be sorted out. We've got to be patient. And we've got to have faith."

Jim heard the shuddering sob that Sam tried to hide.

"How can I..." he began, before shaking his head and grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"How can you what, Sam?" Jim asked gently.

"I must have done something wrong. I just wish I knew what it was. Then maybe I could...make it right somehow. Maybe I could make him love me again. Like he used to when I was little." Sam whispered.

Jim's heart broke all over again, but he fought to compose his own burning emotions so he could at least offer the boy some form of logic, or comfort. He knew that if he couldn't do anything to rectify the situation then he needed to help ease Sam's suffering before he tore himself to shreds over this disaster.

"Is that what you think, Sammy? That he doesn't love you?"

Wordlessly, Sam nodded.

"Did you ever consider the fact that maybe he loves you too much?"

"What? Sam asked, with an incredulous snort of laughter.

"He loves you so much that he can't concentrate on what he needs to do. He's so worried about you being safe that he's willing to leave his youngest son. He's willing to suffer the pain of not having you in order to keep you safe." Jim told him, knowing that it was the truth. "No son, you are not right in that opinion. Your father loves you enough to let you go. To give you a chance at the life that he wanted you to have."

Sam was quiet for a long time after Jim said this, so they sat in silence, Jim contemplating the church while the boy beside him stared at his hands intensively.

There had been a time when Dean and Sam had been younger that Jim had convinced his friend that he needed to remain firm with the boys. He understood that it was hard to raise two young children by oneself, but he knew that John was a good father, and that his boys loved him fiercely. So fiercely in fact, that they were willing to fight for him. Willing to set aside their own dreams to help him on his quest.

The tragedy of the family was that they'd gotten so caught up in the hunt that they knew nothing else. They knew nothing of what life outside the hunt was like. And somewhere along the way, the communication between the three of them had begun to break down, despite the love. And love without communication almost always ended in disaster unless someone did something about it. Jim was certain that if something wasn't done about this situation, then the pain would be enough to tear the family apart. And the one with the most at stake was Sam.

"I want so much to hate him for doing this..."Sam whispered. "But I can't. I want to be with them. I want to see them. What do I do, Jim? Tell me what to do."

Jim pulled the boy close and rested his chin on the boys soft hair.

"You talk to your father. I'm sure that he'll come around. That Winchester stubborn streak has to be good for something, eh? And you certainly have a good dose of it yourself."

He felt Sam's small, broken laugh against he chest and smiled.

"Everything will sort it's self out, Sam. Remember that saying I told you once, when you had that fight with Dean and he told you that he didn't love you anymore?"

" 'Amor animi arbitrio sumitur, non ponitur?'" Sam asked, sniffing.

"That's the one. It's no less true now then it was then. Your father will come to understand the error of his decision. For now though, we need to have faith." Jim paused. "Why don't you pray with me for awhile?"

After a moment, Sam nodded, and he straightened up, leaving Jim's embrace and bowing his head as Jim did.

"In Latin?"

"Of course, my boy. No time like the present to brush up on those rusty skills," Jim smiled, knowing that he received a smile in return, no matter how small. "You remember the Lord's Prayer?"

"Da, Domine, propitius pacem in diebus nostis, ut, ope misericordiae tuae adiuti, et a peccato simus semper liberi et ab omni perturbatione securi. Per Christum Dominum nostrum..."

TBC

_Translations:_

_Saying _- We choose to love, we do not choose to cease loving

_Prayer _- Graciously give peace, O Lord, in our days, that, being assisted by help of Thy mercy, we may ever be free from sin and safe from all disturbance. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.


	5. Crash

_Disclaimer: _Usual disclaimer applies. I own nothing, and odds are neither do any of you. Share my misery…

_Warnings: _Lots and lots of Winchester angst (just the way we like it, right?) and some swearing.

**A/N: **Thanks for all of your reviews and your encouragement! It helps me update as fast as I can, so keep it up! This chapter was a little harder to write than the others, cause I really have no idea what it's like to be that sick. So I hope you don't mind the shameless manipulation I've employed to help carry across Sam's angst. Its all for the good of the story, I swear! Sorry this chap is shorter than the others! Enjoy!

* * *

Part Five: _Crash_

-

_Because you wanted more  
More than I could give  
More than I could handle  
And a life that I can't live  
You wanted more  
More than I could bare  
More than I could offer  
And a love that isn't there _

_-You wanted more by Tonic_

-

It had been a week since they'd left but Sam felt as if they'd just left yesterday. He hadn't heard from his father, despite Jim's assurances that he would call, and if anything that just made it seem more real. The fact that he hadn't called seemed to underline the fact that his father wasn't going to come back, and with everyday that passed his heart seemed to lose hope of ever seeing either of them again.

The tears had all been shed, and all that was left was an empty sorrow. The pain was so intense that sometimes it didn't feel real at all. He wasn't sure of anything anymore, and he was getting tired of waiting for answers that never seemed to come.

He must have done something to deserve this and it must have been something bad. Maybe he hadn't been brave enough for his father, or maybe he just wasn't what he needed. Not like Dean. Nothing ever seemed to scare Dean. He was as fearless as a lion, and just as brave. He knew what he wanted to do and that was hunting. Perhaps Sam had been holding him back. Maybe it would have been better if he never existed. Maybe then their mother would be alive, and Dean would have the family he deserved. And their father would be happy, instead of the broken and bleeding man he was.

Sam rested his head on his knees and looked out the window. Bright moonlight lit the room that he usually shared with Dean and Sam could feel the cool autumn air wafting in slowly.

He wondered what Dean was doing. Was he lying awake at 2 in the morning, and wondering what had gone wrong as he was?

Sam's throat was impossibly tight with misery, but no tears fell. There was none left to cry, and he knew that Dean wouldn't give in to his. So neither would he. He would suffer this exile in silence, and wait for the answers to come.

But if they didn't….what then?

Outside, the wind picked up gradually and Sam shivered. That old feeling was creeping back once more to join his misery. The feeling like there was something out there watching and waiting for him. Sam shivered more violently this time.

The ritual hadn't worked. He knew that now. Had known that when it had finished. He had heard it's pained screaming in his head, and had known that it had been driven away, raging uselessly and forced to bide it's time once more.

But now it was back, and it was thirsting for him again. Sam considered just giving up and letting whatever it was take him. After all, his father wasn't going to be coming back to save him this time. No matter where he was, he wouldn't be safe again.

It would wait until he was vulnerable and until he wasn't on holy ground. And then it would take him.

Sam shivered again.

-

Jim knocked on the door in the morning and waited for a reply that was not forthcoming. When he opened the door, Sam was still sitting in the middle of the bed with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head resting against them. Slowly, he rocked backwards and forwards, his eyes glazed over with fever.

"Sam? Are you feeling alright?" Jim sat on the edge of his bed and rested a hand on his shoulder. Even through his t-shirt, he could feel the abnormal heat radiating from him.

"My head hurts," came the whispered reply.

"You've got a fever too." Jim said. "I think you've got a cold Sam."

"Must have."

"You should eat something and get some rest. Best thing for colds."

"I'm not tired."

"Well, at least eat something then. Why don't you get a shower, and then park yourself in front of the television for the day?"

Sam turned to look at him then, and Jim was saddened to see the vacant eyes and the flushed face. This was something he didn't know how to deal with. He had no experience dealing with sick children. And he wasn't sure what was going on, but something about the whole situation wasn't sitting right with him.

For now though, he'd have to wing it and see where the road took him as Dean would say.

Have faith, he'd said. Well, that was all he could do at the moment.

-

Sam stared unseeingly at the TV. He felt worse than he had that morning. Hotter, weaker and almost brittle. Jim frequently checked up on him in between his daily services and made sure he drank a lot of fluids. He'd given him codeine to take, but it hadn't made any difference because Sam knew that this wasn't a cold. It was that thing out there, waiting to take him. Strangely enough though, he hadn't felt that same panic that he did back then. In fact, he almost felt...nothing.

He looked away from the TV and his eyes found his cell phone, sitting on the coffee table before him. Slowly, he picked it up and toyed with it for a moment before flipping it open and dialling a number that he knew off by heart.

Dean answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

Sam said nothing for a moment, unable to find the words that he needed to say.

"Hello?" Dean sounded confused now and a little frustrated and Sam smiled slightly. It was good to hear his voice.

"Hey Dean."

"Sammy? Is that you?"

"Yeah."

There was a long pause. "How're you doing, kiddo?"

Sam didn't reply for a moment.

"Okay. How bout you?"

"Heh. You know me. Kicking some spirit ass as usual." Dean's reply was flippant, but Sam could hear the strain clearly enough in his voice. He said nothing about it though, and just let his brother's twisted attempts at reassurance filter into his tired mind.

"You okay there, Sammy? You're kinda quiet."

"Got a cold," he replied. "Nothing serious though."

That was a lie, but he knew that Dean would believe him because he trusted that Sam would tell him if something was wrong. Sam felt a little bad for taking advantage of such faith as he did, but he knew that telling him would achieve nothing. It wasn't like he could come back to check on him. He was probably too far away by now, and Sam saw no point in worrying him.

"Well, a little bit of chicken soup should fix that right up. Pastor Jim seems like the nurturing type. You should take advantage of it as much as you can."

"Dean," Sam heard his father warn in the background, followed by the sound of a hand swatting Dean's head.

Dean just laughed and Sam smiled painfully, wishing he was there with them more than anything else.

"What are you and Dad hunting?"

"Not sure at the moment. Dad thinks its some kind of were creature, but Caleb thinks its a Wendigo," Dean answered. "What about you?"

Sam exhaled, suddenly feeling more tired than he had before. Like he just wanted to lie down and sleep for a century.

"Nothing much," he said hoarsely. "Jim's posted me in front of the television. Don't think he wants me to do much."

"Seriously, Sammy, are you okay? You sound...tired." Dean was concerned now, and Sam's heart ached, wishing that Dean was here to look after him as he had done when they were young.

"I'll be fine in a little while. Just tired."

"Look Sam. I know this is hard. But you need to take care of yourself, okay? You need to eat, and get your sleep. I mean it, Sam."

Sam smiled again. Despite the hundreds of miles between them, he was still trying to take care of him.

"Mother hen much?" he asked quietly.

"Hey, someone needs to look after your sorry ass. Just be grateful that you have such an awesome big brother." Dean replied with a laugh.

"I'll just sit here and bask in the glow of your awesomeness then shall I?"

"When did you become such a smart ass little bro?"

"Dean!" came their fathers voice again, and Sam laughed painfully, struggling to draw breath into his tight chest and around the lump in his throat.

"Take it easy, okay, Sammy?" Dean's voice was soft now. "I've gotta go. We'll talk again soon okay?"

"Yeah, okay." He paused for a moment. "I miss you."

"I know Sammy. Me too."

"Hey dean?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Love you." Sam choked out, trying to contain his pain from his older brother, knowing that it would only make his brother sad.

"Hey," Dean's voice was rough now. "No chick flick moments."

Sam gave a strained laugh again. "Right. Bye, Dean."

"See ya Sammy."

Sam hung up and tossed his phone onto the cushions beside him, blinking back his tears as he did so. Just hearing his voice had refreshed the pain of separation and he began to wish that he hadn't even made the call in the first place. He curled up on the couch and pulled his blankets over him before surrendering to the depressing thoughts that forced themselves on him.

It wasn't long until sleep came creeping up on him, and he willingly gave himself up to it if only to escape his thoughts.

-

Jim locked the doors to the church with a sigh. The evening mass was always the largest and the longest, and it always left him feeling older than he really was. Usually he would have had Sam out there, helping him prepare and then sitting in the front row and listening intently.

The boy was a contradiction of everything Winchester. While he was so much like his father, he was also very unique in the way he viewed the world and some of the ideas he had flying around that complicated head of his, well, he had no idea where they came from. Yes, Sam was special but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing in their line of work or a liability and that was perhaps the saddest thing of all. He didn't fit into the normal world because of his knowledge of the supernatural, but neither did he fit into the world of hunting as completely as the rest of his small family did.

Jim sighed as he collected up the bibles and returned them to their places. The air was colder than it had been for the past week, and Jim knew that winter was truly in it's way. While he loved Blue Earth, he hated to freezing winters. The Church was especially draughty then, with enough cold air to make a skeleton shiver.

Jim entered the house and locked the church door behind him. The house was warm (thank god for central heating) and Jim sighed as he slipped off his shoes. Not only was the house warm, it was dead silent as well. Jim frowned as he entered the living room.

The TV was muted and Sam was asleep on the couch. The blankets surrounding him were tangled and Sam was covered in sweat, his face flushed with fever. Jim's stomach dropped.

"Sam?" he was at the boys side in moments, and began shaking his shoulder gently. "Sam can you wake up a bit for me?"

His only reply was a groan. His eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids, and when Jim lay his hand on his brow, he knew then that this was more than just a cold. The kid was burning up, and it wasn't looking good.

Carefully, he scooped him up into his arms, and carried him upstairs. The unnatural heat that radiated off the boy combined with the exertion of carrying a growing teenager up the stairs made him sweat. By the time he got Sam onto his bed, Jim was panting, and Sam was struggling weakly against him.

"Hush now, Sammy. You need to rest." Jim murmured, pulling a light sheet over him and adjusting his pillow.

"Dee..."

Jim swallowed when he realised that Sam thought he was Dean and he stroked a hand over the boys sweaty forehead.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

Jim hurried to gather up some cold and flu tablets, a jug of water and some damp clothes before he returned to the sick boy in the bed.

It was an uphill struggle to get Sam to swallow the pills, but eventually he got them into him. He applied to cool clothes to his forehead, and pulled up a chair to wait.

-

Dean sighed, and leant back in the passenger seat of the Impala. His side was aching unpleasantly and his ribs hurt like a bitch, but the hunt was done and the ugly son of a bitch was dead, so he was satisfied.

He was half hoping that now they'd finished this particular hunt his father would take them back to the Pastors so he could see Sam. He'd heard the pain in Sam's quiet voice that he'd tried so hard to hide, and he was filled with a bone deep worry for him. Sam only ever sounded like that when something was seriously wrong. Dread was slowly filling Dean as he thought of all the things that could possibly be wrong, besides the painful separation of the Winchester family.

Dean glanced at his father, who had a shallow cut over one eyebrow that was bleeding slowly. He seemed more relaxed than he had in week. Dean didn't think he could take much more of the terse orders and answers he'd been on the receiving end of for the past week. He wanted to tell his father to pull his head out of his ass and go back to get Sam, because it was something that they both wanted.

If only his father wasn't so stubborn.

If wishes were horses though...

Dean shifted again as pain lanced through his side once more, and his dad looked at him.

"How're you doing over there Dean-o?"

"Pretty alright, all things considered. I'm just glad we wasted that sorry asshole," Dean grinned at his father, hating the way it forced itself onto his face.

John frowned. "Dean if I have to warn you one more time about your mouth, then I'll get Sammy to..."

He stopped abruptly, and Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. This was all wrong. Nothing seemed right without Sam, and Dean knew that before too long, he'd fall apart without him around. Just the thought of him all alone and lonely was enough to make him cry. He didn't though. Because that wouldn't be manly.

He felt a surge of bitterness towards his father, and he looked away lest it showed on his face.

His father cleared his throat.

"Anyway, Caleb said Bobby picked up on a possible hunt in Colorado. I was thinking we'd..." John began, but the shrill ring of his cell cut him off. "Shit. Where's my goddamn phone?"

John fumbled around in his pockets, keeping one hand on the wheel. Dean eventually dug it out of one of the duffels on the back seat and handed it to his father, who answered it abruptly.

"Hello?"

Dean looked out the window and listened on in silence.

"We're in North Dakota. Why, Jim? What's going on?"

Dean bolted upright in his seat and turned to his father, ignoring the fiery pain in his side.

"What do you mean?"

John listened in silence, his gaze narrowing.

"But that's...take care of it, Jim. You've done it before, you can..."

Dean's stomach was in nervous knots as he listened, wondering what in the four corners of hell was going on. If something had happened to Sammy...

"What are you waiting for then? Get him to the damn hospital!" John snapped, his hand tightening on the wheel.

Dean's heart sank as he watched his father's face turn ashen. "We're on our way. Do whatever you can to help him. We'll be there as soon as we can."

His father hung up, then glanced at Dean.

"Sammy's very sick, Dean. Jim can't get him to the hospital because he doesn't have insurance or any documentation for him."

"What's wrong with him" Dean asked urgently.

"He's got a fever than won't go down. He's delirious and he's...he's calling for us."

John's foot pressed down on the accelerator and Dean began to pray that they would get there in time.

But then, he needn't have worried; because when it came down to family, John Winchester would do whatever it took to keep them safe. Even if it meant marching to the deepest depths of hell with guns blazing, he would do it. Not even death could stop him anymore, but that didn't stop Dean from being scared.

TBC


	6. Lay It On the Line

_Disclaimer: _Still don't own any of the wonderful characters from Supernatural……yet another thing for my therapist to deal with…sighs

_Warnings_: An annoyed Pastor (never a good thing), swearing and more angst. Oh, and a few tender moment between John and Sam (try not to faint people)

**A/N **I'm posting twice today because I won't be able to update tomorrow. I'm going to the Easter show! Lots of candy and wild rides! Overdoses on sugar and adrenaline! Always a good combination! Hey, I might even get some inspiration for a new story! Inspiration does strike in the strangest of places!

Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this chapter. I find it challenging to write for both Dean and John so I figured I'd try my hand at both. John is the hardest to write for, because I'm always second guessing his intentions. So let me know how it went, kay?

Enjoy!

* * *

Part Six: _Lay it on the Line_

-

_He's a walkin' contradiction when he sings his verse._

_He's got a caffeine fix addiction but it could be worse._

_And he is loved by many_

_Understood in time._

_But it's easier to love him than to try to read his mind._

_He's a mass of words, expression and toil,_

_and his temples in the trees, the water and the soil --_

_He's a man of evolution, always changing like the seasons._

_He finds the right solution but gets lost in his own reason,_

_and he's got a ways to go._

-Shawn Mullins, Evolution Man

-

They pulled up Jim's drive in a cloud of dust and desperation. Jim threw open the front door just as John and Dean were running up the stairs. They were exhausted from the trip, but it didn't matter now that Sammy was so close.

"He seems to have gotten a little better within the last few hours, but it's still not looking good," Jim informed them as he stepped back to admit them into his home.

"Where is he?" John asked grimly.

But he was already taking the stairs with Dean and Jim hot on his heels.

"I've cared for him to the best of my ability, John." Jim said softly as the oldest Winchester opened the bedroom door.

Sammy lay twisted within his sheets, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes sunken with dark circles that looked like smudged soot but what was perhaps the worst of all was the gauntness of his youngest. Sammy had been thin before all this had started, having lost his baby fat the previous year, but now he looked like he had been starved for a month.

Dean was rooted to Jim's side, immobile as all the colour drained slowly from his face. But John strode up to the bed and sat on the edge, turning Sam's face towards him with surprisingly gentle fingers.

"Sammy," his voice was quiet but firm. "I need you to open your eyes for me son."

His only answer was a faint moan, but John was not known for giving up until he got what he wanted. This time he tapped Sam's cheek sharply.

"C'mon boy. It's important."

"...'ad?" Sam's eyes were still closed, and his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper but it was something. Just hearing his voice seemed to relax John a little. "Don' feel so good."

"I know, son. I need you to listen to me, okay?"

Sam's eyes opened, mere slits of slate grey and they focused slowly on the form of his father. Dean wasn't sure if he was even seeing his father, or if he thought if that he was trapped within yet another delusion that his fevered mind had produced, but those eyes had never looked so beautiful to him at that moment.

At least he was responding, Dean told himself a little relieved. It was something. And from what he had heard from his father, it was more than what Jim had been getting.

His father tapped Sam on the cheek again lightly.

"Are you listening, Sammy?" he asked again.

Sammy's head lolled on his pillow, turning towards the window but John grasped his chin and turned it back towards him.

"Are you listening to me?" he asked, his voice demanding.

Dean wanted to scream at him to leave him alone. This wasn't a time for giving orders, they needed to get him to the hospital. They needed to look after him, but he bit his tongue and watched with his heart in his throat.

"Tried to be good, Daddy," Sam mumbled beneath his breath as his eyes closed slowly. "Promise I'll do better."

John swallowed sharply and jostled Sam a little.

"Hey. I'm talking to you. Open your eyes for me Sammy."

Obeying for once, Sam opened his eyes all the way this time, seemingly shocked by the abrupt movement.

"Dad?" he seemed a little more aware as well. "Where's Dean?"

Dean cleared his throat. "I'm here Sammy." his voice was barely more than a whisper and he felt Jim lay a hand on the back of his neck.

"Sam, I need you to tell me something. Have you been hearing any strange noises lately? Seen anything around that seemed unusual to you?" John asked intently, his eyes fixed on Sam's fever-flushed face.

"It's important, Sam. You know the kind of thing I'm talking about."

Sam's eyes closed again before he opened them and focused tiredly on his father's face.

"You didn't believe me 'fore," he murmured slowly.

The sadness in his eyes almost crippled Dean. Only thirteen, and his younger brother already had old eyes. The fever was making him say things he normally never would to his father for fear of punishment, and Dean was proud of his little brother for having the guts to even speak them aloud.

But then, he wasn't in his right mind. And that reality came crashing down on Dean as he waited with bated breath for his father's reaction. Jim's hand tightened minutely on Dean's neck.

John merely brushed sweat-soaked hair off Sam's forehead with a tenderness that Dean had rarely seen in all his years and he smiled sadly at his youngest.

"I wasn't sure what to believe before, kiddo. But I'm listening now. If you tell me, I promise we'll make this better. We'll make you feel better as soon as we can, but right now I need you to help me out."

Sam sighed slightly but didn't take his eyes off of his fathers unshaven and tired face. Dean saw at that moment, a truth that he had suspected for a long time.

Sam didn't have faith in his own father. Sure, he trusted him to keep him safe and to make sure that they both had a roof over their head and something to eat. But he didn't trust him with matters of the heart. He didn't trust him not to break his own heart, nor did he trust him enough to confide in him for fear of incurring his anger.

There was a rift growing within his own family, and Dean could not do anything but stand back and watch it grown wider.

He didn't realise that he was silently praying for some kind of divine solution until the words were spilling from his lips under his breath, random pieces of incoherent Latin and English that he couldn't seem to quell.

Jim put his mouth next to Dean's ear.

"Hush, lad. They'll be time enough for that later. Right now you need to believe in Sammy, and in your father," Jim whispered in his ear.

Dean nodded wordlessly and somehow managed to stem the flow of words behind tightly clenched lips. He took to worrying his leather wrist band instead, twisting it around and around and wrapping the trailing ends around his fingers as tightly as he could as he watched Sam watch their father.

After a long moment, Sam's eyes closed again.

"No dad. Nothing." Sam murmured. "Nothing you need to worry about."

John sighed and ran a hand over his jaw.

"Are you sure Sammy?"

But Sam had already slipped back into restless sleep, his face slowly falling away from his father.

Dean had a sneaking suspicion that Sam had been lying.

-

John closed the door to Sam's room quietly and turned grimly to Jim and Dean. They'd carefully changed Sam's sweat-soaked sheets, and made sure he was comfortable before they'd retired momentarily.

"His fever's coming down slowly," Jim murmured. "At least that's something."

"So he's going to be alright now, right?" Dean asked worriedly, seeking reassurance from either of the adults.

"He should be, as long as that fever keeps coming down. " Jim paused and eyed John. The younger man's eyes were distant and his hand was rubbing absentmindedly rubbing at his forehead.

"What are you thinking, John?" he asked quietly, mindful of the sleeping boy on the other side of the door.

John's sharp eyes focused on him, and a frown creased his forehead but he didn't reply.

"You think there's something wrong with Sam, don't you?" Jim answered his own question.

Dean looked between the two, confused.

"Of course there's something wrong with him. He's sick, isn't he?"

"Something wrong with him supernaturally, is what he meant." John sighed. "I don't think it's coincidence that this sudden illness crops up a few days after what happened back at the cabin. It doesn't make sense."

"No, John," Jim said calmly. "It doesn't. But just because something doesn't make sense, doesn't mean that it's supernatural. You leaving him behind doesn't make sense, but it's not exactly a supernatural phenomena now is it?"

John levelled steady eyes at his old friend, but Dean could see the weariness and the strain in those eyes.

"It was a bad decision, okay? I get it now. So stop rubbing my face in my mistakes, will you? I shouldn't have left him. I wouldn't have if I had known that this was going to happen," John replied his voice rough with emotion and lack of sleep.

"Would you have if you had known for sure that it wouldn't happen?" Jim pressed on, never the less.

"...I don't know."

Dean wasn't sure if his heart could take any more strain during the night. His father had never looked so old, Sam had never looked sicker, and Jim had never looked more determined to get his point across. Dean felt stretched thin, trying to keep track of everything. Add onto that the strain of worrying for Sam and you had the perfect recipe for a nervous breakdown. Sometimes, Dean was amazed at how he managed to hold it all together at times.

"It's not good enough, John. Sam deserves more than this. He's a good kid, and you're punishing him for something that's not even his fault. You need to fix this before you break something you won't be able to mend..."

"I'm not punishing him!" John snapped quietly, showing more fight than he had for hours.

"You might want to reconsider that. He thinks you are, and I'm not altogether sure that you aren't either." Jim replied. "Maybe he wouldn't be in this situation if you had kept him with you. That boy needs his father. And he needs his brother just as much."

John glanced at Dean, who was standing silently against the wall closest to Sam's room and watching the exchange with haunted eyes.

John turned away and ran both his hands through his hair.

"Damn it Jim!" he raged quietly. "I can't...I don't know what to do anymore..."

Dean's heart dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of his feet when he heard that heart-rending confession. If his father, the man who wasted demons and ghosts and had an answer for every fucking thing they came across didn't know what do to, then what hope did Sam have? What hope did he have?

Dean felt like the only thing he had going for him had just disintegrated before his eyes. Like someone had just ripped the carpet out from beneath his feet.

He slid down the wall and covered his face with both hands, rubbing vigorously at his eyes and shielding himself from his father. For a moment, no one said anything but then the words were spilling from his mouth. The bitterness filling his chest and throat was almost more than he could stand, and never had it been directed at his father before. It wasn't a concept that he was pleased with.

"Then why don't you go in there and tell him that you're giving up on him ? Would that be easier than facing your own problems? You can face down any evil son of a bitch but you can't stand up and fight for your own son?" Dean finally looked up at his father, who was looking back at him with unreadable eyes. "Honestly Dad? That bites. I don't understand this any more than you do but we're going to lose him if we don't do something. You may be able to stand losing a son but I can't deal with losing my brother. So if you won't do anything, then I will."

John was still looking at him, and Dean met his gaze squarely and unflinchingly. He had always followed orders, even if he didn't like them. He had been a good son, and a good soldier, and never had he talked back to his father or openly defied him as he was now. But when it came to Sammy, there wasn't much he wouldn't do.

John gave a hoarse laugh and turned away slightly, one hand on his hip and the other covering his mouth.

Dean didn't fail to see the small smile of pride on Jim's face, and it was directed at him. The cold ball of misery in his chest warmed a little.

"I never thought I'd see the day when I'd let one of my sons get away with talking to me like that," John laughed again, and turned back to Dean. "You're right, son. As much as I hate to admit it you're right. Hell, you're both growing too fast for me to keep up. Just when I think I've got you figured out, you both go and change on me."

Dean smiled weakly at his father. Never let it be said that Dean Winchester couldn't be stunned to silence. Such an admission from their father was colossal. He'd have to remember to tell Sammy if he got better.

When, he amended silently. He'd definitely tell Sammy when he got better so they could gloat in the darkness of their room at night over the small victory.

"Alright. We're partially responsible for this, so we're going to fix it," John said, his determination and familiar fierceness showing through as he shook of his lethargy. "Ideas?"

They were quiet for a moment.

"I noticed he was quiet on the drive over here," Dean began slowly. "Like he was always tired. He slept a lot though. I didn't think much of it then."

"That's good Dean." John encouraged. "Any little thing could help. Jim? You notice anything strange?"

They watched the quiet Pastor as he looked down at his shoes thoughtfully.

"Yeah actually."

He didn't elaborate however, and John snapped his fingers impatiently. Dean smiled. Once his father caught scent of something he thought could turn into a gig, he was like a terrier with a rat, refusing to let go until he had shaken every final piece of information from whatever the source.

"He stayed beside me for practically the whole week. Spent a lot of time in the church too. In fact, he didn't set foot outside the whole time," Jim said slowly, as realisation began to dawn on all three of them. "And he kept looking up at those windows as if..."

"As if what, Jim?"

Jim looked at John sadly.

"As if they would give him answers. As if they would save him."

"Fuck..." Dean whispered, eyes wide. John and Jim shot him simultaneous glares.

"Language, Dean," they said in unison.

But Dean just looked at them.

"He knew something was after him. He could sense it."

"I think you may be right, Dean." John frowned, then growled softly. "I don't understand why he never said anything to anyone. This shit is serious. You don't mess around with spirits unless you know what you're up against."

John ignored the glare Jim directed at him as he began to pace.

"He told me he thought he'd done something wrong. Like he'd made a mistake that caused all this to happen. I think he thinks this is his problem to deal with, his burden to bear," Jim told him quietly.

"God damn him and his stubborn pride," John cursed.

"That's enough blasphemy for one night, thank you very much," Jim said sternly. "I don't think my ears can't take much more."

"You've heard worse," John replied unsympathetically as he continued pacing. "Caleb and Bobby..."

"Don't get me started on those two," Jim rolled his eyes.

"This is all very nice," Dean interrupted, not impressed by the banter passing between the two. "But what about Sammy?"

John sighed.

"I have no idea what this could be. It sounds like a spirit, but Sam had no connections to any, I'm positive."

"Maybe we put one out of commission that had a companion," Dean suggested, his eyes lighting up at the possible solution.

"Is that even possible?" Jim asked uncertainly.

"I haven't the foggiest." John admitted. "I've never even heard of anything like that before. And I've put a lot of spirits down."

"Maybe Bobby would know."

"Good idea. Right, he's where we start. "John said decisively, straightening from his hunched slouch. "I'm gonna call Bobby, see if he had any ideas. Dean you hit the good Pastors library, and see if you can dig anything up."

Dean groaned as he got to his feet.

"Research is more Sam's cup of tea. God knows if you gave him the chance he'd be in there faster than you can say por..."

"Dean," John levelled a warning glare at him and shot a look towards the scowling Pastor.

"Right. I'm going." Dean flashed a grin, a weight easing off his shoulders, knowing that he was doing something to help Sam at last.

"I've got to go into town and pick up a few supplies..."Jim said to his father.

"Mind picking me up a few things as well? I have a few ideas..."

Dean smiled and sent a silent prayer for someone to watch over Sammy and keep him safe while he worked at killing whatever sorry mother-fucker that had decided to pick on his little brother.

The lord knew that no one got away with doing that unscathed. Not while he was around.

TBC


	7. Spellbound

_Disclaimer:_ Nothing to do with supernatural belongs to me...

_Warnings_: Swearing, Limp-Sam, and mushy moments between Sam and Dean.

**_A/N:_** I enjoyed writing this chapter, though it was a bit difficult at times. Right about now we're about half to three-quaters way through this fic. Any suggestions or ideas for an ending that you would like should be submitted soon! Even though i know how it'll end already...

So i got my major adrenaline rush today, and i still managed to get an update in! Went on one of the most terrifying rides i've ever seen before, and boy was i shaking at the end! Also laughed through it like a loon, but never mind...

* * *

Part Seven: _Spellbound_

_Another dream that will never come true_

_Just to compliment your sorrow_

_Another life that I've taken from you_

_A gift to add on to your pain and suffering_

_Another truth you can never believe_

_Has crippled you completely_

_All the cries you're beginning to hear_

_Trapped in your mind, and the sound is deafening_

_- Prayer, Disturbed_

_- _

All Sam could hear was the roaring in his ears. Every noise was too loud, and every light was too bright. The sheets chaffed uncomfortably on his sensitive skin and he was hot, too hot. Fire raced through his veins like a rapid river, and Sam could hardly breathe.

It was too hot. The voices in the hallway were too loud.

The voice in his head was louder.

_Come to me,_ it whispered. _Feed me. Let me feed..._

The burning got more painful, the pounding in his head almost unbearable and he must have called out or something because suddenly Dean's face swam into his vision.

" 'ammy? Can you hear me?" his voice was distant, and throbbed painfully in his ears at the same time. Distorting then evening out. Like someone was pushing the volume control on a stereo up and down at will.

"Dee..." the word tore at his throat, clawing its way out.

His mouth couldn't seem to form words properly, but he knew what his mind wanted to tell him.

_Save me...oh god it hurts...make it stop...make the burning stop..._

A hand on his forehead, colder than ice and like a slice of heaven on his burning skin.

"I'm right here, Sammy. You're safe."

_No I'm not...Save me dean..._

He sucked in a sobbing breath which burned like icy fire into his struggling lungs.

There was another voice then, and Dean turned away. Sam clutched at his brother desperately, not wanting him to leave. It had been too long, and the pain was almost taking him over. He wanted it gone, even if it meant that he would be gone too. Anything to make that burning leave him alone.

"...he okay?" that other deeper voice was fading in and out too, and Sam began to wonder if he was going deaf as he was burning.

Dean was replying again, but Sam was giving into the pain once more and letting it take him where it would.

What seemed like only moments later, he was painfully jolted awake and he felt the world spin out from beneath him.

"Easy, Sammy." His father's voice was quiet in his ear, and there was a brief and fleeting pressure on his hair before it disappeared. "You're starting to burn up again. We're going to make it better. Just hold on to me, okay?"

Sam closed his eyes as they shot upwards, and suddenly his was floating in the air, his feet free of the cruel clutches of the sheets. The air was blissfully cool on his skin, and Sam lost himself in the sensation. The voice had faded a little as well.

His father smelled nice. Like outside and cool night air. Gun oil and sweat.

"Dad?" he asked, struggling to draw enough air and words to speak.

"Yeah, Sammy? Get the door Dean."

" Iss hot..." he mumbled, pressing his face closer to the nice scent.

"I know, Sam. We're fixing that now," was the soothing reply.

"Not outside..." he said anxiously, beginning to struggle weakly. "Not outside..."

"I know, Sam." his father repeated. "Not outside. We're staying in here where it's safe. Dean's gotten you a bath ready. We'll get rid of that sweat, hmmm? Make you feel better."

"Too hot for a bath..." he mumbled, settling back down against his father's chest. At least that's what he thought he was saying. His mouth wasn't cooperating with his brain properly, he thought idly. In fact his whole body felt funny. Disjointed somehow. As if he was there, but he wasn't.

"Hold him for a minute Dean."

He was on solid ground once more. Or at least he thought he was. The fire was back again, and the room swam before his eyes.

Funny. He hadn't thought he was underwater.

"Whoa, steady there, kiddo," Dean's blurred face appeared before him once more, and he felt cool hands on the bare skin of his arms once more.

"Where'm I?"

"You're sitting on the toilet, dude. Just hold on a minute and we'll cool you down."

Sam let Dean strip him of his cotton boxers and he sat there, wondering where the sun was. He needed to find some shade.

He was too hot and he told Dean so.

Dean glanced away at his father who was sitting with his hand in the bathtub. There was a rushing noise, like water.

Were they near a river?

"I think he'd delusional again."

" No 'm not," Sam disagreed, sleepily. He needed to sleep again. He head was pounding unpleasantly, and the voice was back, hissing at him in his mind.

"Have you listened to the shite coming outta your mouth?" Dean asked with a laugh.

"Dean. Cut the crap and bring him over here."

Sam closed his eyes and then all of a sudden agony, and pain exploded throughout his body chasing the burning fire away with an icy one.

He cried out and began to struggle, unaware of the voices calling out to him and hands pulling at his limbs. His head renewed its vicious pounding and his body began to ache and throb anew, but with an unfamiliar pain now. He had to get away, it hurt, it hurt, it burned anew with icy claws trying to rip into him.

"Sam, it's okay!" Dean was calling to him, holding his shoulders.

"God damn it!" John cursed. "Samuel, listen to me! Nothing's trying to hurt you! You need to calm the hell down before you hurt yourself!"

Their words registered in his mind, and as he listened, the pain dulled to a full body throb but the panic gradually drained out of him taking with it his remaining strength.

He slumped, boneless, back into Dean's arms and tried to ignore the icy demons clawing their way through his body.

Tainted...it was all tainted...

-

Dean swore silently as Sam stopped struggling all of a sudden. He glanced at his dad, who was tight-lipped and tense as he released Sam's legs and sat back.

"Shit," he swore.

They were both soaked liberally with lukewarm water. Sam had reacted as if they had dumped him in a lake of icy cold water in the middle of Antarctica. Dean exhaled as the adrenalin rush left his blood and left him feely shaky and upset. He looked down at the weak boy in his arms and realised that Sam was probably feeling far worse than he was.

He was dull eyed and unresponsive and Dean glanced at his father worriedly.

"Is he okay? He's not..."

John leaned over him to look at Sam's pupils and check his pulse.

"He's not in shock. He's just weak." he surmised after a few moments.

He sat back and regarded Sam speculatively. "Hopefully this will bring that fever down a little. We won't leave him in here for long. Are you okay to stay with him while I get changed?"

"Of course," Dean nodded, and looked down at Sam. He pulled the boy closer and ran a hand through his wet hair.

John patted his shoulder, stood up and left the room silently.

Dean rested his head on Sam's for a moment before he picked a wash cloth and dipped it in the water.

"Hey Sam. You remember when we were kids and you used to sleep in my bed after we watched horror movies? You never could stand them."

Dean smiled as he remembered. He began to slowly trail the wet washcloth over Sam's neck and shoulders, talking as he did.

"We used to huddle together under the covers and talk until the early hours of the morning. You remember that?"

Sam moved slightly, turning his head towards Dean's chest, and he knew then that he was listening from whatever dark place he was trapped in.

"You used to ask me where dad was, and what he was hunting. I made up all these stories to try and convince you that he wasn't in danger and that he wasn't hurt, and even though you never believed any of them, you always used to ask me to tell you anyway."

"I remember," came a strained whisper.

Dean jumped slightly, pausing in his gentle administrations. He wasn't aware that Sam had even opened his eyes again. The fact that he was talking back encouraged Dean to continue.

"Dad used to come in and find us under the sheets whispering together, and he used to take you back to your own bed and stay with you until you fell asleep."

"He used to hate us sleeping in the same bed." Sam's laugh was weak, but it was something that was music to Dean's ears.

"Only after you turned seven." Dean corrected. "He told you that you were a big boy, and that big boys slept in their own beds. I still remember the look on your face when he told you that. You said that he used to sleep with mom, and did that mean that he wasn't a big boy?"

It made Dean laugh just thinking about it. His father had been bewildered, not only because the seven year old had been able to come up with such a question, but because he could find no answer to the innocent question.

"But I still came back." Sam was smiling faintly, his eyelids heavy as he struggled to stay awake.

"Until you were eleven. And we kept watching those horrors, and you kept getting scared and coming to my bed."

"Mmmmm..."

Dean wiped the damp cloth over Sam's forehead tenderly, and Sam turned his face upwards for more access.

"You remember the one I told you about the little boy who fought off the pack of scary dogs until dad went and saved him?"

"You told me that the boy had a bag of chocolate that he was saving for his older brother so they could share, and the dogs wanted it for themselves." Sam slurred still smiling. "And he fought them off with a big stick he found on the ground until dad and Caleb shot at their feet with magic silver arrows and they ran away."

Dean was amazed that Sam remembered the whole story, and yeah, it sounded lame spoken out loud, but to a little boy it had been an amazing adventure of triumph over evil, in which their dad was the hero. It had been a hope to hold on to, and a reassurance that their father was really okay.

Dean smiled down at him around the tightness in his throat.

"Yeah that's the one. Well I need you to be brave for me like that boy. I need you to fight this Sammy. For me, okay? Cause I...I need you around for awhile yet. " Dean whispered, blinking away the blur of hot tears.

A hand wrapped around his forearm, and squeezed gently.

"The uh...the truth is, I think I'd be lost without you. And I know dad would be a wreck, despite what you think. I think we'd fall apart if we lost you." Dean choked out. "So...you just…hang in there, kiddo, and me 'n dad will figure out the rest. You got that?"

There was a slight movement of Sam's head, and Dean took that as a nod of agreement. He exhaled shakily and rested his head against Sam's once more.

"You...You're such...a girl Dean.." Sam whispered, slurring his words together. "Grow a pair..."

Dean laughed now, relieved to see even a tiny piece of the Sam he knew emerge.

"Listen to you, tough guy. You'd be a blubbering mess if you were in my place."

"Girl..." was the only reply.

Dean knew that Sam was practically asleep now, so he pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, and gently shifted him a little higher.

"I'll try Dean...For you..."

He almost missed those almost inaudible words, but they were like a slice of redemption delivered straight from above. If Sam could somehow fight whatever this thing was, then he sure as hell could fight beside him.

A slight movement had him turning to see his father leaning against the door and watching them. Dean knew he had heard most of the whispered conversation, but he found that he couldn't be the least bit sorry or embarrassed.

For a moment, neither of them moved. John's eyes drifted to Sam who was fully asleep and he straightened from his position on the doorframe.

"Let's get him out of there and into bed."

They dressed him in a clean pair of pyjama pants, and got him settled in bed once more. Dean was tucking the sheet around Sam and he felt his dad watching him from the other side of the bed. He straightened up and looked his old man in the eyes, waiting for whatever it was he wanted to say.

"He's lucky to have you Dean. God knows me an' him, we'll never understand each other. I'm glad you do, because I understand you. When you were younger, there were times when I could barely look after myself after your mother..." John paused and looked away as he always did when Mary was mentioned. "You're a good man Dean. And you're a good brother. That's something you can always be proud of. And I am too. Keep it in mind."

With that John turned and left the room without turning back. Dean sunk onto the edge of Sam's bed with his mouth open.

"Well," he said to Sam's peacefully sleeping figure. "There's another miracle right there, hey Sammy?"

-

Jim had yet to go to town, and John paced the confines of the kitchen like caged tiger. Dean was sitting at the table, his eyes flicking between John and Jim, who was sitting opposite him and talking on the phone.

Eventually, Jim hung up the phone with a frustrated sigh, and rubbed at his temples.

"Caleb hasn't got a clue. He said he'll start heading back this way within a few hours after he's talked to one of his contacts a few towns over." Jim informed them.

John scowled and hoisted himself onto the bench top.

"Bobby said he hasn't heard of anything like this before either," John practically growled out. "And he's the expert on possessions and spirits and the like."

"He's not possessed." Dean stated. "We already did that...thing."

"No, I know. I can't think of anything either. And you searched all the church records and the library?" John asked Dean.

"Of course. There's nothing. Anything that sounds remotely like this thing is put down to demonic possession or haunting. And we know it's neither of them." Dean replied, smothering a yawn.

"And there's no way he could have been..." John began.

"No John. There's not. I'll even say another blessing over him if it'll make you happy but there's no way I'm putting him through another one of those. Not while he's like this."

They all sat in silence for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts. John jumped when Jim spoke up.

"How is he anyway?"

John rubbed his eyes. "Fever's died down a bit after that bath. And he seems pretty peaceful at the moment. Not sure how long it will last though."

"I think maybe its time we took him to the hospital, John." Jim began.

"I'm beginning to think you're right." John replied, tilting his head back to inspect the ceiling.

"No." Dean spoke up suddenly. "Sam wouldn't want that. You know he hates hospitals."

"We don't really have much choice at this point, Dean," Jim pointed out.

"The fevers gone down at last. He's resting for the first time in hours," Dean countered. "Lets give him a chance and see if he can beat this thing by himself."

"Its cruel to make him suffer needlessly, Dean..."

"I know that! Trust me, the last thing I want is for Sam to suffer. But I know him, and I know he'd want us to at least give him a chance. Have a little faith in him. Isn't that what you preach in your sermons, Jim? Have faith?"

Jim studied him for a long moment before looking towards John.

The oldest Winchester looked up to see two pairs of eyes boring into him, and he studied each of them in turn as he thought.

"If he starts getting worse again, we're taking him in. We'll give him this chance though." John said as he hopped off the counter top. "C'mon Jim, I'll give you a lift into town. Dean, I want you to..."

"Stay here and watch Sammy." Dean grinned as he stood up. "You'd think after all these years I would have those words memorised off by heart."

John rolled his eyes as he grabbed his keys.

"You know, John, that kids too damn smart for his own good. If he couldn't talk his way out of any situation then he could just as easily use that charm." Jim commented, watching as the boy disappeared upstairs.

"Trust me, I know," John replied dryly. "By the time I was twenty I hadn't got into half as much trouble as he has."

TBC


	8. Knocking on Forbidden Doors

_Disclaimer: _Supernatural and it's characters belong to their rightful owners. If we don't all know that by now then something's wrong….

_Warnings_: The usual- lots of Winchester angst, swearing and suspense!

**A/N: **This is about as far ahead as I've gotten with this story. The next chapter should be a few days coming, because it has yet to be written. Hope you can hold onto your horses and wait awhile for the next!! Enjoy!

* * *

Part Eight: _Knocking on Forbidden Doors_

-

_And you go dancing through doorways_

_just to see what you will find_

_leaving nothing to interfere_

_with the crazy balance of your mind_

_and when you finally reappear_

_at the place where you came in_

_you've thrown your love to all the strangers_

_and caution to the wind_

_- Dire Straits - Love Over Gold_

_- _

Dean looked out the window trying to quell his feelings of anxiety. Jim and his father had left less than an hour ago, and he couldn't help but feel like he was floundering against a tide he had no way to fight. Night was falling outside, and the temperature was dropping rapidly and although the house was warm enough, Dean was cold in more ways than one.

Every light in the place was blazing, and Dean had even gone so far as to salt all the doors and window sills just to be sure. Even if this was holy ground (well the church was anyway) he wasn't taking any chances.

He had always felt that if he stayed in one place, had a home like Jim did he would be vulnerable. That he would be a sitting duck for anything that had nasty plans for him. It was one of the reasons he didn't mind moving around all the time. At least he felt.

But Sam was different, and Dean wasn't sure if he'd realised why their father kept moving them the way a lioness did when she thought he cubs were being threatened. It was a feeling that Dean obviously shared with his father, although they'd never brought it up in conversation.

Wind rattled the windows every now and then, and Dean couldn't help the paranoia that was setting in. He kept the shot gun filled with rock salt at his side as he paced the house and checked all the entrances relentlessly.

If it was a fight this thing wanted then Dean would willingly comply. There was no way in hell that whatever it was was going to get Sammy, and Dean would put his life on the line if he had to.

John would be telling Dean to calm down and get a grip and it was true that he was tightly strung at the moment, but John wasn't there and Dean was.

When his father wasn't around, Dean did things his way and he always would.

Dean took the stairs two at a time to go and check on Sam again.

The room was lit by the golden glow of the lamp, but it did nothing to make Sam look any better. If anything, it made the dark smudges of illness under his eyes seem dark. It made him look frighteningly frail and lifeless. Dean didn't like the pallor of his skin either.

Surprisingly, Sam was awake again, and had his face turned towards the window. Dean set the shotgun by the door and went to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, Sammy. How're you feeling?"

Sam turned his face towards Dean, and gave him a thin smile.

"Not any worse if that's what you were wondering." Sam coughed slightly to clear his throat.

Dean picked up the glass of water on Sam's bedside table and handed it to him, steadying it when his hand trembled. Sam sipped at the water then let his head fall back against his pillows and Dean returned the glass to its resting place.

"Well that's something at least."

"Mmm."

Dean frowned at his brothers lacklustre response but decided to keep trying.

"Dad and Jim have gone to town to pick up a few things. Maybe when they get back you could try eating something," he suggested, picking at Sam's sheet absentmindedly.

Sam's eyes were dulled with something Dean couldn't recognise, and he realised that even if Sam was starting to get better, he wouldn't spring back from this emotionally, or even mentally.

It was something Dean couldn't see and fight to protect his brother from and it was scary to think that he could lose his brother to whatever dark demons were plaguing his mind,

"Hey Dean," Sam started, looking towards the window with a small frown on his fever flushed face.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Do you hear that?"

Dean frowned this time, and followed Sam's gaze out the window and into the darkness.

"Hear what?"

"That noise. It's coming from outside."

Dean paused and wondered if Sam had started hallucinating again.

"I don't hear anything, Sammy. There's nothing out there, I already checked." Dean reassured him, but he stood and went to the window just to make sure. Sam's erratic and distracted behaviour was starting to disturb him and he felt his anxiety return. He wished his father would get back. He always felt stronger when he was around.

He pushed the curtains aside and looked out, scanning the darkness with trained eyes in search for something he knew wasn't there. After a moment, he stepped back and pulled the curtains fully closed.

"There's nothing there, Sam. Nothing to worry about. Besides, I've already warded the place. We're perfectly safe."

Sam was still frowning when he turned around, but his eyes were focused on Dean now, watching him as he returned to the bedside. His eyes followed Dean's every movement slowly, and he could tell that his brother was tired once more.

The amount of time he spent sleeping was worrying Dean. Every little thing Sam did seemed to tax what little strength he had, and Dean was beginning to think that it wasn't right.

"Don't worry, Sam. I won't let anything happen to you, remember?" Dean smiled at his brother and was pleased to see an answering smile, although it was small.

"Did you and Dad figure out what it is yet?"

Dean blinked at Sam, and was at a loss as to what to say. He hadn't even realised that Sam had known they thought something was after him.

" 'm not stupid Dean. I know why Dad hasn't taken me to the hospital. Besides, I've heard you guys talking." Sam smiled wearily at him.

"Uh..." Dean wracked his brains for a suitable answer. "When did you get so smart, Sammy-boy?"

"I've always been smart, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes minutely before closing them. "So?"

Dean looked down at his hands for a moment.

"We uh...haven't come up with anything yet, Sam. But we will. We'll get whatever this thing is."

Sam snorted, his eyes still closed and Dean could tell that he was fighting the urge to fall asleep again.

"I know you will. You guys always figure it out when it comes to a hunt." Sam murmured,

_'But not when it comes to you_,' Dean thought to himself. _'You're the one thing we can't figure out, and I know it kills you sometimes._'

He cleared his throat again.

"You should get some rest, Sam. But before you do, take these." he leaned over and retrieved two Tylenol from the box by his bed. "They'll help with the fever."

Sam accepted the pills and took them without complaint before lying back down and closing his eyes once more.

"I'm tired of resting."

Dean smiled at this emergence of the old Sam.

"I know kiddo, but you need to get better. And besides, you have to listen to me."

"And why's that?"

Dean grinned at him, although he knew he couldn't see it.

"Because I'm the oldest."

Sam's lips twitched slightly and he snorted again and Dean couldn't help the way the grin wouldn't leave his face.

"Whatever. Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean knew that Sam wanted him to stay with him while he fell asleep without him needing to say it aloud. He had been that way when he was little too, and Dean had often wondered why, but had never questioned him on it.

Maybe that was part of the problem with their family. Most of the communication that went on was silent, and that was all very well for some things, but other things needed to be said aloud in order for them to be fully understood, and Dean knew that the only time that spoke about something was when they were all yelling at each other.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy?"

"Do you think that once this is all over Dad's going to leave me again?"

Dean swallowed the swift hit of pain those whispered words caused him, and he couldn't resist reaching out and stroking Sam's hair off his forehead.

"Not if me and Jim have anything to do with it. We're working on it, Sammy. Give us some time." Dean murmured back silently.

Sam nodded but didn't say anything and Dean wasn't sure if he believed him or not. He was on the edge of sleep now, and Dean wished more than anything that he would slip back into the oblivion that he had been resting in for the last hour. At least then his baby brother might get some peace.

Dean watched Sam slip into a light doze, and he stroked the messy hair with a smile.

"You need a hair cut, kiddo," he informed him quietly.

When he received no reply, Dean sighed and carefully settled himself on the bed beside Sam, leaning against the headboard and looking down at his slumbering sibling.

"I won't let anything bad happen to you," he whispered, letting his hand fall on Sam's damp hair gently. "I promise."

-

Awareness struck Sam like a blow to the face. The place was cold, colder than it should have been, but it felt like heaven on his hot skin. Sam sat up a little, and grimaced a little at the pounding in his head. Beside him, Dean was slumped against the headboard fast asleep. Sam sat up, frowning a bit at the strange feeling in his stomach.

There was something...

Shakily, he swung his legs out of bed and stumbled over to the window. He pulled back the curtains and looked outside. All he could see was the reflection of his face and the lamplight.

But there was something...

His vision blurred momentarily in front of him, but he blinked and it corrected itself after a moment There was a shotgun beside the door. Sam made his way carefully across the bedroom floor and grasped the cold metal in his shaking hand.

He was tired of being scared of whatever it was. He was tired of hearing that voice in his head taunting him, calling out to him. But most of all he was tired of feeling tired.

The journey down the stairs wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be. As long as he remembered to keep a firm grasp on the shotgun and on the handrail, he managed to stay upright. The ground floor was a quiet as the upstairs had been, and Sam remembered Dean saying something about his dad and Jim going out somewhere. He couldn't remember much of anything really, just snippets of blurred memories, and vague conversations. Most of all he remembered the pain that had been tormenting him ceaselessly.

Shaking himself out of it, Sam steadied himself with a hand on the wall, and made his way towards the back door, trying to still his trembling limbs. He was still so tired, but he needed to see whatever it was that was waiting outside.

He knew Jim had set various protections around the place; herbs planted in certain corners of the garden, lines of rock salt laid carefully underground, protected by plastic. He'd have to get across that first before he could make any sort of sense of what it was that had been stalking him.

Sam wondered what it was it wanted from him. Jim had said that he was sensitive to evil, but maybe that was just another way of saying that he was tainted in some way.

It made sense. His mother had died because of him, and he had often wondered if Dean and their father blamed him for that. There had been times when he had blamed himself. Maybe that was why his father had been so determined to leave him.

And maybe that was why this entity wanted him. Because his soul was tainted.

Sam blinked back his tears and opened the door with hands that were reluctant to co-operate. He leant for a moment against the doorframe to catch his breath, and as he did he looked out over Jim's back porch and beyond the neatly landscaped gardens towards the shadows of the trees. That was where it was waiting for him.

Sam knew that his father would be furious if he knew he was doing this. He would be so far beyond furious; he'd be livid. But Sam had no choice. There was no way they'd be able to stop this thing before it was too late, so Sam had to find a way to save himself.

Sam's options had dried up the moment he had fallen prey to this strange illness. And despite everything, he didn't want to die. He wanted to be with Dean again, and he wanted to make his father proud of him.

Taking a breath of frigid air, Sam set foot beyond the door, and instantly felt that hissing voice in his head again, and the pressure behind his eyes. He trembled with fear and with weakness, and for a moment he considered going back and getting Dean. But he couldn't be a baby forever. He couldn't rely on their protection for the rest of his life. This was his battle and one he had to face on his own.

The voice became more insistent and Sam knew that he was unable to resist that call. It had connected with him on some deeper level that he couldn't comprehend, and he knew he was unable to break that connection.

_Feed me...Let me feed..._

_Hungry..._

Sam gasped as pain exploded in his head and he stumbled forwards, almost falling down the porch steps but catching himself before he did and still managing to maintain his grip on the shotgun.

His breath hung in white clouds in the cold air before him, and he could hardly breathe past the tightness in his chest.

He wanted to run, but found he couldn't. He wanted to scream for Dean but the words wouldn't come to him. Nor would the strength.

There was only the pain and the creature.

He could see it now, hovering at the edge of the trees. Waiting for him, he realised. It wanted him, and if it took him, well. At least Dean and their father would be safe and free. No more little Sammy to protect or shelter. No more dead weight to hold them back.

No more Sammy.

He dimly heard the rumbling of an engine, and a crash, followed by shouting voices, but he was almost at the edge of the garden now and his eyes were fixed on those glowing blue ones that were staring at him.

The moment he set foot outside the protection of Jim's garden, time seemed to scream to a halt. The all he could see was a dark shadow and glowing eyes rushing at him, then nothing.

Just a black empty void filled with a hollow silence that seemed to ring in his ears.

TBC


	9. This Time Imperfect

_Disclaimer:_ As always, Supernatural belongs to its wonderful creators and not me.

_Warnings:_ Swearing, angst and subjects which could offend.

**A/N** Seriously, this chapter had been trying to write itself for two weeks now. I originally started posting so I could get the push I needed to keep going. And I'm still not all that happy with this chapter! But it could be worse, I suppose!

If I'm judging correctly then there should be roughly 5 more chapters to go? (Don't quote me on that, I could be wrong!)

I also realize that some of you might be thinking that Sam doesn't become 'psychic' until right before Jess dies. I should probably let you know that I manipulated this for the sake of the story, and that being 'psychic' isn't the same as being 'sensitive' to the paranormal. (I used to read a lot of fantasy/sci fiction. Can you tell?)

Having cleared that up, on with the reading and reviewing thing!

* * *

Part Nine: _This time Imperfect_

-

_This doubt is screaming in my face_

_In this familiar place sheltered and concealed_

_And if this night won't let me rest_

_Don't let me second guess_

_What I know to be real_

_Put away all I know for tonight_

_And maybe I just might_

_Learn to let it go_

_Take my security from me_

_And maybe finally_

_I won't have to know everything_

_- Sick Cycle Carousel by Lifehouse_

_-_

Sam could feel it inside of him, straining and struggling, trying to push him out of his own body. It burned through him, screaming with its own need and its hunger seemed to gnaw at his very bones.

If he had known it would be like this he wouldn't have done it to begin with. He knew what it was now, and he had no idea where the knowledge had come from, or how, but if only he could let them know, then maybe they could release him from the prison of his own body.

-

Dean screamed as he raced down the stairs, watching as Sam's body jerked and seemed to freeze.

And then he disappeared within that black cloud and it was too late for him to do anything. Next thing he knew, the cloud seemed to absorb itself into his little brother's body and Sam collapsed boneless to the ground.

He skidded to a halt and fell to his knees beside him, vaguely hearing shouting in the back ground but all he could see was his brother's lifeless body in his hands, and all he could feel was the cold that seeped from Sam's body and chilled his own skin.

"Sam, Sammy, don't do this" he begged holding his brother close. "Please come back, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't leave me..."

There was no reply. Only Sam's limp body in his arms.

And then someone was pulling him away and holding him back as he struggled to get to his brother.

Caleb was leaning over Sam's body, slapping his cheek lightly and calling his name to no avail. Jim's arms were stronger than Dean thought possible, and he gave up trying to get away from him and watched, anxious and trembling as Caleb tried to illicit a response from the lifeless teen on the ground.

Eventually the young man sat back on his heels and looked over at them.

"He's alive. Perfectly fine from what I can tell. But not waking up..."

"You hear that Dean?" Jim said in his ear, his hand rubbing Dean's arm soothingly. "He's okay."

"Then why isn't he waking up?" Dean asked, desperately, feeling like he was four years old again and vulnerable. "What's wrong with him?"

"We don't know yet, Dean-o," Caleb answered, turning back to Sam once more. "We need to get him inside though. It's cold out here."

Jim helped Dean to stand, and they watched as Caleb scooped Sam into his arms and lifted him carefully.

Dean's breath was shuddering through him as he tried to stop crying, but he couldn't seem to gain control of his emotions once more. When he had awoken to find Sam and the shotgun gone, a horrible feeling of dread had consumed him, and he had automatically assumed the worst.

What had followed was a frantic search of the house and the horrible realization that he was alone and Sam was gone.

And he was lying there, so pale and still in Caleb's arms and it was his fault.

It was enough to make him start crying once more, and he barely registered Jim pulling him into his arms and holding him close. He buried his face in the pastor's chest, unable to quell the sobs that wracked his body.

Sam was gone, Sam was leaving him behind. Sam was lost...

And where was their father when they needed him the most?

"Hush now, lad," Jim murmured into his hair as he rubbed Dean's back slowly. "Quiet now, it'll all work out, you'll see."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." Dean sobbed into the Pastor's neck.

"None of this is your fault, Dean. You know that. And Sam knows it too," Jim said quietly.

Eventually, Dean's tears were exhausted and he grew still within the safe circle of Jim's arms as he drew in one shaking breath after the other. Surprisingly, he felt better now that he had cried. Cleaner somehow, and lighter. As if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he was ready to fight for Sam once more. It had been the fear that had gotten to him. The dreadful fear of seeing Sam attacked by that thing; if Sam couldn't fight for himself any more, then Dean would just have to fight for him. It was as simple as that, and he was ready to take up that duty once more.

Jim set him back slightly but left his hands on his shoulders. The weight of them was a comfort to Dean, and he felt strong once more, despite the tears still trickling slowly down his cheeks.

"God I feel like an ass..." Dean said hoarsely with a weak laugh.

"No. There's no need to. This is hard on all of us," Jim said firmly. "And it's good that you've gotten it out of your system. Now, you're going to go inside and help us to figure this out. He needs us now more than ever, and he needs you most of all."

Dean nodded and straightened his shoulders as he wiped his face clean and drew in a calming breath. Jim nodded approvingly and smiled warmly at him.

"Good lad."

Dean smiled at him, and rolled his neck, feeling it crack.

"Where's Dad?"

"He stayed in town to finish up some business. I'll go and call him to let him know what's happened. And you..."

"I'm going to go and help Caleb wake Sammy up." Dean finished grimly.

-

Caleb had Sam lying down on the couch in Jim's lounge room, and he himself was sitting on the table and watching him with a frown on his face. His hands were clasped together in front of his face.

Dean hesitated in the doorway but then crossed the room, and went to kneel down by Sam's side but Caleb's hand on his arm stopped him.

"What the hell, Caleb?"

"Just...wait. Tell me what you saw?"

Dean frowned. "Why? What's it matter? Sam needs me..."

"It means everything if we're going to figure this out, Dean," Caleb said sharply. "You know that. Start using your head."

Dean glared at him for a moment before reluctantly doing as Caleb asked.

"I saw this...shadow. A black shadow and it...surrounded him, like it was holding him immobile. And then it just disappeared. And then Sam collapsed. That's all, I swear." Dean frowned as he remembered.

Caleb was on his feet now, and he was clutching Dean by the arms.

"Are you sure that's all that happened? There was nothing else?" he asked urgently.

"Y-yeah. I'm positive," Dean was taken back by Caleb's sudden distress. "Why? What's wrong?"

Caleb didn't answer; instead, he stooped down and collected Sam into his arms once more, his face grim.

"Caleb? What are you doing?" Dean asked, scared now. "What are you doing with Sam?"

"Go and get the Pastor," Caleb ordered. "Now."

Dean was used to taking orders without questioning and he did so now without hesitation. Caleb never ordered him about unless it was dire and if he was doing so now, then Dean didn't even want to think about what was wrong.

He returned shortly with Jim hot on his heels, but Caleb wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"Caleb?"

"I'm in the dining room."

Jim and Dean followed the sound of the young hunter's voice into the nicely furbished room, and stopped still in amazed silence at what they saw.

The table and chairs had been roughly shoved to the side, and Caleb had laid Sam down in the center of the room and was currently drawing around him with chalk.

"Caleb, what are you doing?" Dean asked, fear hardening his voice. "Why is Sammy...?"

"I think he's been possessed by some sort of spirit. It's the only explanation for what happened, and I'm not taking any chances." Caleb replied as he completed the protective circle around his younger brother. "This will contain him and whatever is in him until we can figure out how to banish it."

"P-possessed..."Dean repeated, disbelievingly."There's no way..."

"I don't understand it either, Dean, but I think he might be right." Jim said softly. "There's nothing else that would do something like this to him."

Dean fumbled for a chair and sat down. He stared at where his younger brother lay motionless in the middle of the circle that Caleb had drawn.

The other hunter was creating a salt circle around the chalk one. Once he'd finished they all stood there in silence and stared at Sam, at a loss as to what to do next.

The door slamming open saved any of them from making a decision, and John charged in like an enraged bull.

"What the fuck is going on?!" he demanded when he saw Sam. "Caleb what the hell are you doing to my son!"

Jim didn't even bother to rebuke him for the blasphemous language, and he straightened from where he was leaning against the doorway.

"Sam went outside, John. We don't know why, or how, but whatever it was that's been...hurting him had somehow possessed him." he explained calmly.

Dean knew that when his father was like this he was a ticking bomb, likely to lash out at anyone or anything until he managed to calm down.

He only ever got so explosive when someone was threatening one of his own, and he was downright terrifying. Dean however, couldn't be gladder to see such a fierce protective urge from their father.  
"That's not possible," John said flatly, still glaring hotly at Caleb.

"Well I'm afraid that's what has happened, and if we have any hope of helping Sam, then you need to calm yourself so we can get to work." Jim answered him.

Dean looked at his father as the older man's eyes sought out and found him. John left the doorway and approached Dean, who stood slowly.

John's hands fell on his shoulders and gripped then tightly. It was a gesture meant to reassure and comfort at the same time, and Dean relaxed ever so slightly.

"What happened, Dean?" John asked, his eyes still steely and his voice hard.

"All the entrances were protected. I checked them every half hour at least. I was up there with him, because he was awake, and we were talking. He was listening to something. He thought there was something outside. I looked but I couldn't see anything..." Dean swallowed.

"And then what?" It was Jim, speaking from the background, encouraging him quietly. Dean looked into his fathers eyes, which were boring into his.

"I stayed with him as he fell asleep and I...I fell asleep too. But he was right beside me the whole time I swear...and when I woke up he was gone. He was...he was outside with...that thing," Dean blinked back his tears as he remembered.

John's hand tightened on his shoulders momentarily before they dropped away.

"It lured him outside," the oldest Winchester said after a moment. "He wouldn't go outside. He knows better than that."

Dean thought otherwise but he wisely kept his mouth shut. His father wouldn't tear him a new one while Sam's life was at stake but he'd rather not tempt fate. And he definitely didn't want to do anything to add to his growing list of crimes. Not that he didn't deserve punishment. Whatever it was going to be, he would serve it happily because when it came down to it, he had been the one who had let Sammy slip through his fingers. It was a betrayal not only to himself but to Sam and their father as well, and one he would never be able to fogive.

"So...I think it's safe to say that this thing has been...connected to him for awhile now." Caleb said after a moments pause. "The only question is why?"

Waitaminute. Dean blinked and stood up straighter.

"Do you think that...it's been leeching off him? Like...feeding from his strength somehow?" he asked haltingly. He wasn't as experienced as the other hunters in the room, so he had no idea if it was even possible, but it was worth voicing just in case it was. "He has been extremely weak, hasn't he?"

John was frowning, and he crossed the room to crouch down by the protective circles to watch his son.

"You might have a point there, kid." Caleb said slowly.

Dean scowled at being called a kid (he was nineteen!) but made no effort to protest. Not while there was so little time and so much at stake.

"I've been thinking about this whole thing for awhile now, and there are lots of things that are inconsistent. If it were a spirit, I mean," the hunter continued. "I think I know what we might be dealing with here."

"What? If you know something Caleb……" Jim began.

Caleb shot him an annoyed look but didn't answer him, instead looking at John. The hunter was still watching his son intently, but he was listening intently to what Caleb had to say.

"I checked with Bobby, and he agrees with me." Caleb said quietly, his own gaze returning to that of the prone figure on the floor.

"And?"

It was John who spoke up this time, and he was considerably calmer now.

"I think it's a Wraith."

John's eyes zoomed in on Caleb intently.

"I thought they were all wiped out in the eighteen hundreds."

"So did we. But it fits, when you think about it. It's been feeding off him for awhile now. They were renown for feeding off human emotions, and sapping strength."

"But..." Dean cleared his throat. "I don't understand. What's a wraith?"

"Hard to say exactly. Some say that they were once shamans, of some kind who were so bent on finding a way to become immortal that they wore themselves out and became nothing more than a shadow. The only way they could continue to exist was by feeding off the emotions of people."

Dean gazed at him in confusion and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"The last of them was supposed to have been killed in the eighteen hundreds." Jim continued where Caleb left off. "But this one must have slipped through the cracks somehow."

"Not only that but it must be a strong one. It seems to have found a way to possess a body, which is a step closer to gaining new life." Caleb said grimly. "And Sam's the unfortunate one to have been picked."

"That's my son you're talking about," John told him between gritted teeth. "Not just another victim, Caleb."

Caleb blinked in surprise then looked at the hunched figure of Sam.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"They target people who are highly emotive, which would be understandable with Sammy," Jim said. "If it wasn't already possessing Sam, then it wouldn't be that difficult to destroy it."

"But because it is...we can't do anything without hurting Sam further. And because he's significantly weakened, anything we do might kill him."

Dean felt his chest tighten but managed to stay silent. This was an important process, he knew. The older hunters were sorting through the information and deciding what their options were. And while he was sitting in the corner with his heart breaking, he would have to remain quiet and let them work.

Sam still hadn't moved, and Dean wondered what was going on inside of him. He wondered if the Wraith was hurting him, trying to push him out of his own body, and he hoped more than anything that Sam was fighting with everything he had.

"The next move is yours, John," Jim said quietly. "He's your son, so it's your decision."

Dean watched their father watching Sam, and he could fairly see the heavy weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders. One wrong move and the youngest Winchester could die.

John rubbed his eyes and stood, looking down at his child, his baby. He was the last gift that Mary had given him before she had passed, and he would be damned if he let this Wraith steal him away from underneath his nose. Sam was their baby. Sam wouldn't be left alone to suffer and die.

"The only way we can kill this thing is if we somehow get it to leave his body," John stated slowly. "Any ideas on how we could do that?"

He was greeted with silence.

"I got nothing," Caleb said after a moment's silence. "Suppose we'll have to hit the books."

"Let's get this room cleared then, shall we?" Jim asked.

"Dean, you help the Pastor with that. Me an' Caleb are going to go to Jim's study."

Caleb pulled a face but stood up and followed John as he left. Dean looked at the Pastor, who sent him a kindly smile.

"How about we start with the chairs and I'll tell you everything I know about Wraiths?"

Dean sent the older man a relieved smile and got to work.

-

They managed to move the large oak dinning table out of the room, and clear it of anything that could be dangerous before Sam finally began to stir.

Dean was at his side in moments, while Jim disappeared to summon John and Caleb from their search.

Sam moaned again, and Dean was crouched just outside of the protective circles, wanting so badly to touch his little brother but knowing that he couldn't.

"Sammy? Can you hear me?" he asked with baited breath.

His only answer was a pain whimper, and he clenched his fist on the wooden floor boards.

"C'mon Sammy. Open your eyes for me."

And amazingly, he did. Those unfocused eyes turned towards him, and while he wasn't sure if Sam was actually seeing him or not, he felt elated nevertheless.

"Dee..."

"I'm here Sammy. I'm right here..."

Sam seemed to stir even more and he blinked slowly.

"'m sorry Dean. I didn't mean to..."

"Give me a heart attack? You wouldn't be you if you weren't doing that Sammy," Dean laughed hoarsely.

"It's...I can feel it Dean. It's screaming at me...It wants..." Sam was mumbling, his eyes closing slowly then opening once more.

"We know what it is Sammy. We're going to find a way to save you. You're going to be fine," Dean told him firmly with a confidence he didn't quite feel.

"You have to...have to..."

"Have to what, Sammy?"

Pain filled eyes met his, and Dean saw that Sam was weakening once more. He would surrender to unconsciousness again soon, but Dean wished fervently for him to hang on and keep talking. If Sam was awake and talking then he was alive at least, instead of lying there and looking like he was already dead.

"You have to...kill me...it's the only way..." Sam whispered as his eyes slid closed.

"NO!" Dean said forcefully. "I'll find a way, Sam. I'm not going to let you go."

"You have to...it's the only way for you to...be free..." Sam choked out as he whimpered once more. Dean could only imagine the horrors that he was seeing in his mind.

"No," he whispered fiercely. "Fight it, Sammy. Fight it for me."

"I'll try Dee. But..."

"No buts, you hear me? You have to fight it. Don't let it win Sam. You're stronger than that."

His father pounded into the room with the other hunters close on his heels. John thudded to his knees beside Dean, but Sam's eyes had closed once more and he had stilled.

"Sam?" John's voice was graveled with exhaustion and fear, but strong never the less. "Sam, can you hear me?"

Sam's eyes shot open suddenly, and mechanically, his head turned towards them.

Dean and John flinched backwards simultaneously at the dead eyes that met theirs. There was an unnatural glint to them, and Dean knew then that they were facing the wraith.

Slowly, Sam rolled over until it was crouched and facing them.

It hissed at them.

Dean would have found it funny if it hadn't been Sam that was possessed. The thing hissed like a cat would.

"Mineeee..." it hissed again."Mineeee..."

"No," John's voice was steady and strong, and Dean leaned against him for support. "He's not yours. He's ours. And we're going to get him back, no matter what you..."

And suddenly it wailed an unearthly howl and collapsed to the floor clawing at its head, keening as it did so.

Dean and John watched in stunned silence as Sam's body writhed within the confines of the circle. After a moment silence fell, and Sam grew still once more. The only noise was his sobbing breathes.

Dean only then became aware of the tears running down his face and he hurriedly wiped them away.

"There's your answer then," Jim's voice rang out clearly within the silence of the room. "Sam's going to fight it and we have to do everything we can to help him.

TBC

* * *

In regards to the Wraith, i will post information about them in the AN at the beginning of the next chapter. I did do research on them, and the information i found was inconclusive at best, and not very descriptive (which is good for me because it means i get a free reign!) If you have any questions, feel free to ask and I'll answer to the best of my ability. 


	10. Give Me Shelter

**Disclaimer: **As before, nothing belongs to me. The song is called the Riddle by Five for Fighting.

**Warnings**: Angst, swearing and subjects which could offend.

**A/N **Sorry this chapter was so long in coming. Personal commitments have kept me from writing as much as I would like, and add that to the fact that I have a nasty throat cold, it makes for one annoying mess!

This chapter is rather uneventful (in my opinion) and it focuses mainly on Dean's point of view. It also focuses rather strongly on religion, a subject I know next to nothing about. The prayer used is one I found on the net so it may not be all that accurate. Hopefully the next chapter will shift to Sam or John's point of view (no promises though!) and I hope to have it up within the next few days.

Enjoy!

* * *

Part Ten: _Give me Shelter_

_Dad I'm big but we're smaller than small  
In the scheme of things,  
well we're nothing at all  
Still every mother's child sings a lonely song  
So play with me, come play with me_

The Riddle (You and I) By Five for Fighting

-

Dean's eyes were glued to Sam's motionless body. It had been two hours since they'd come face to face with the creature that had taken up residence in his little brother, and since then he hadn't moved a muscle.

The Pastor had dimmed the lights in the room, because when Sam awoke once more (which he would, Dean was constantly reassuring himself) he would be staring straight up into them and Dean knew that Sam hated it when lights were shone directly into his eyes.

Caleb and his father had holed themselves up in Jim's library, and were immersed in finding a solution to the delicate situation they had found themselves in. Dean wasn't sure what they had come up with yet, and he feared that there was no answer. Maybe Sammy couldn't't be saved this time, and Dean wasn't sure how he would deal with that.

_Hell, _he thought, maybe _he wouldn__'__t be able to deal with it at all. _

In fact, if it came down to it he would probably follow Sammy if he died just so that he wouldn't be alone.

Dean swallowed and shook his head to clear it. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lay down beside Sam and drift off into sleep, as he had done so many times when they were young. But he had to stay awake. He had been given the task of watching over Sam. Of guarding him and he didn't like it one bit. Sam didn't need to be guarded like he was a prisoner of some kind. But he was a prisoner wasn't he? A prisoner to the Wraith that had singled him out.

A prisoner in his own body and trapped within the horrors of his mind. Dean shuddered when he thought about it. If it was him instead of Sam he knew that he would have lost the plot a long time ago and gone off the deep end. But Sam was strong; probably stronger than all of them put together, and Dean couldn't help but be proud of the fight he was putting up. And he knew that Sam was fighting.

He was always fighting. He fought dad, he fought Dean, hell, he fought anyone who he thought was getting in his way as he had from the moment he could talk.

Dean could still remember the way he would kick and scream in his highchair as both he and their father struggled to feed him. He'd wanted down and he wouldn't quit until he got it. In the end it was easier to comply than fight, and it was a lesson that Dean and John had learned early on. But in the end, Sam's sweet nature always got the better of him, and he always made up for his temper tantrums in unparalleled displays of love and affection.

Whether it be in the form of a hug and a sloppy kiss on the cheek or a small body sprawled on their laps, Sam Winchester never left a doubt in anyone's minds that he loved his father and his brother more than anything.

But when the boy fought, he sure did give it his all.

Dean wondered for the hundredth time in the last hour what kind of battle was raging within his brother. If he knew his brother (and he did) then he was putting up one hell of a fight. If he hadn't been as angry as he was, then he would have felt a bit sorry for the Wraith. He hadn't known what he was getting himself into when he chose Sam Winchester as his victim. Poor sucker.

He tightened his grip on the shot gun slightly, feeling the cool metal and welcoming the surge of relief it brought.

Ever since he had started hunting, he had realized that guns meant safety. They meant protection and the feel of them had always given Dean a certain amount of comfort. The weight of a handgun tucked in the back of his jeans, or the worn leather of a knife hilt, it all meant the same thing to him. Protection. Safety. Security.

But what weapon could help Sam now? The power of love, maybe. Of faith, possibly. But the means to this particular end was obscure, and Dean was terrified that they wouldn't come across it in time to save the one who meant so much to him.

He heard someone enter the room and looked up into Pastor Jim's tired looking face.

The older man crouched down beside him, his eyes on Sam. Dean could clearly see the sadness on his face, and he swallowed his own misery as he looked away.

"Do you want a break, lad?"

Jim's voice was quiet, and Dean appreciated it. It didn't seem appropriate to disturb Sam while he was caught in the midst of such a struggle- to make noise and confuse him seemed unfair and cruel, so by some unspoken agreement they kept their noise to a minimum. Like they did in hospitals, he supposed. Noise was thought to put undue stress on the patients and disturbed their rest, and the last thing Dean wanted to do was disturb Sam's much needed rest- if he was resting at all that was.

Dean shook his head and rested the shot gun across his lap.

"I'm okay. I can go a few hours more."

Jim nodded, understanding without needing it explained and Dean was grateful once more. The Pastor had been a large part of their growing up, and while Dean had never been as close to him as Sammy was, he still considered him to be part of their extended family. The affection he had for the man often surprised him. After all, he was a big fan of everything the Pastor's kind frowned upon- pre-marital sex, drinking, swearing, crime…now that he thought about it he had probably sinned in all ways possible, and he wondered if Jim didn't look at him differently because of it.

"Hey Jim?"

"Yes, lad?"

"How come you never preach to us about all the sins we've committed? Or about God for that matter? We commit almost every crime possible. Not rape or anything. But we steal, and we kill and…"

"Dean," Jim halted his rambling questions with a smile and an upraised hand.

"First of all, I don't think you'd better let your father hear you asking me questions like that again. He'll probably skin you alive for giving me such an opportunity."

Dean shared a smile with Jim, but it made him a bit sad. Smiling felt so unnatural to him, almost unreal now. He wondered how long it would take for a simple smile to feel okay once more.

"In answer to your question, I believe that in your line of work, the smaller sins must be over looked. What your family does is too important to be hindered by concerning yourselves about committing sins. You save peoples lives, you help them find closure. I think god is willing to overlook it in the face of things." Jim explained quietly.

"Dad stopped believing in god a long time ago." Dean told him, looking down and stroking the muzzle of the gun in his lap. He knew that Jim was watching him carefully, as if to guage his reaction, but he couldn't bring himself to meet that probing gaze

"When your mother passed away, a part of him left with her. Your father lost faith in everything he once believed in," Jim replied. "I've seen it happen before. And to be honest I do understand. But that doesn't mean that God isn't still watching over him. Or you and Sammy. Even if we lose our faith that doesn't mean that God does."

Dean swallowed. "Sometimes…..Sometimes I want to believe so bad, but I just….I don't think I can. I know Sammy does. I see him praying sometimes and I want to too, but I can't seem to…"

"Can't seem to what?" Jim prompted gently.

"I don't know…I like to think that there's something watching over me. Mom used to tell me that there was but since she died…."

"Dean."

He looked up into Jim's eyes and was surprised to see a smile there.

"If you're even thinking about it, then that's fine. It's a decision you have to make for yourself. But you want to know what the secret is?" Jim whispered with another smile. "It doesn't matter what you believe in, as long as you believe in something. Whether that's belief in yourself, or Sammy, or in the power of your own strength that's enough to start with. Anything else can be considered a work in progress."

Dean liked the sound of that. He liked the sound of it a lot. And the strange thing was, it made sense in a funny way.

Jim chuckled to himself and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Just don't tell that father of yours that I've been lecturing you about faith."

Dean grinned then.

"What about him? Is he a work in progress too?"

"Oh, he's my biggest one yet, Dean. I'm working on it."

Dean felt a cold place somewhere within himself warm a little.

-

Sam stirred not half an hour later, and Dean was at his side within seconds.

"Hey buddy. How're you doin'?" he asked gently, although he knew it was a stupid question.

The old Sammy would have glared at him, and employed that sarcastic wit of his that never failed to make Dean feel ridiculous and leave their father fuming.

"Dee…"

"I'm right here Sammy. Are you gonna open those peepers for me or not?" he chided gently as he made sure that the shot gun was inconspicuously out of reach. He knew Sammy better than he knew himself and he knew that Sam responded best to encouragement and horribly to being pushed.

Sam rolled onto his side and blinked slowly, focusing on Dean, who was crouched just outside of the circle.

"Hey Dean."

He was looking more alert than he had been previously, and it was relief to Dean and it struck deeply at his weary core and made him feel a little more human for a moment.

"You been here the whole time?" Sammy asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but audible none the less.

"Of course I have."

"You need to get a life…"

For a moment, Dean was stunned, unable to believe that he could joke under such dire circumstances. But when he saw the small smile on his tired face, he couldn't help the laughter that escaped him.

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I'm a sucker for those pathetic eyes of yours. Gets me every time."

Sam smiled at him again before closing his eyes slowly and opening them again. His eyes landed on the shot gun that Dean had tried to keep from sight, and Dean's heart dropped.

"Hey Sam, I uh…It's not…"

For a moment Sam was quiet, studying the menacing looking gun before he looked at Dean once more. That heart-rending, strange smile was back on his face once more, and Dean was not so happy to see it this time.

"You'll use it if it wins won't you?"

"I'm not going to shoot you Sammy. Never," Dean said firmly, as he struggled to keep his mouth from trembling at the very idea.

"You have to. I want you to. I don't think I could live with myself if I did something to you. Or dad."

Dean could see that Sam's strength was failing quickly, and he didn't want to waste the little time they had talking about Death. Or anything to do with the wraith. But he knew that he had to get the idea out of Sam's head before it became an obsession.

"Look Sam, if something does happen, and notice I said if, it won't be you that will do it. It'll be the Wraith that's inside you. You would never do anything to hurt anyone. You know that. And so do we."

Sam sighed and closed his eyes once more.

"Where's dad?"

"He's upstairs in the library trying to find a way to get rid of it. Don't you worry, Sammy. We've got this one covered." Dean tried to smile as reassuringly as he could.

"Protective circle working then?"

Dean nodded.

"It won't be for much longer, Sammy. Dad'll figure something out."

"Yeah…"

Dean's heart ached and throbbed away in his chest, and he hadn't the slightest clue what any of it meant, but he knew that Sammy was losing his hope and he was losing it fast.

Dean sensed more than heard Jim enter the room and kneel next to him.

"Sam how're you feeling, lad?"

A smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes remained closed, and Dean found himself longing for the sight of those gray eyes once more. Sam had their mothers eyes, Dean knew, and it had torn at their Dad for years. Dean couldn't lose another person who had those eyes. There was nothing without Sam.

"Top of the world, Pastor…"

"I'll bet," Jim said wryly. "Are you thirsty?"

Dean automatically felt a twinge of guilt for not thinking of this earlier, and he immediately got up to fetch a glass of water for him.

Cautious now, he place the glass just inside the circle and with drew his hand as quickly as possible without being obvious. Sam just watched with those all-knowing eyes of his and said nothing, waiting until Dean had withdrawn before he reached out a badly shaking hand and grasped the glass.

Dean watched helplessly as Sam slowly lifted the glass to his mouth and managed to drink. Water spilled over his hand and down his chin, and Dean wanted nothing more than to be able to steady that trembling hand himself and wipe away the spilt water. But there was nothing he could do except sit back and watch.

Sam was frighteningly weak. He could barely move by himself, and Dean knew that once the Wraith was gone it would take a long time for Sam to recover. This wasn't the sort of thing someone just bounced back from. It was like a cancer, slowly leeching strength and vitality from a person until they just slipped away, weak and without struggle.

The empty glass was slammed roughly down by Sam, and both Dean and Jim watched as Sam's body suddenly convulsed once, then shuddered violently. His eyes were squeezed shut and his jaw was clenched, and Dean could hear his breath catch in his throat.

"Oh god..."

"What do we do, Jim? We have to help him!"

"You stay where you are Dean!" The Pastor ordered sharply. "You'll not set one finger in that circle."

"But..."

"You hear me, Dean?"

Dean nodded wordlessly and turned back to watch Sam, feeling tears threaten once more. It wasn't fair. Why did Sam have to suffer so much, and for no reason? Hadn't their family been through enough already?

"Sam, can you hear me?" the Pastor was speaking steadily to Sam, and Dean clenched his fists as he listened. "Are you hearing me, Samuel?"

"I...I hear you..." Sam groaned, his eyes still closed and his body shuddering horribly.

"Good. Do you remember the prayer to the Archangel Michael? I read it to you awhile ago, remember?"

"I remember.."

Dean was amazed that the Pastor would even imagine that something like this could help Sam, but he bit his tongue with much difficulty. Sam had always been more into praying and religion than he had ever been, and he wondered how praying was going to help. Praying was for people who had given up already. Who had nothing left except to ask for some sort of divine intervention that never came.

"Say it with me now."

"Don't...think I can...Pastor..." a hacking cough erupted from Sam, and Dean was horrified as he watched Sam's back arch away from the floor. A sharp cry spilled from his sibling, and covered Dean face with his hands and realised that he was trembling just as badly as Sam was.

The Pastor waited until Sam had relaxed once more and lay panting on the floor, limp but still visibly trembling.

"Try Sam. Are you ready?"

"Think...so..." another cough, this one weaker than before, and another shudder raced through him. "L...Latin?"

"Not this time. English, lad. It's easier that way. Here we go."

"Saint Michael the Arch Angel," Jim began, still watching Sam who was struggling to comply with the request. His lips moved at least.

"Defend us in battle. Be our safeguard and protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; may god rebuke him, we humbly pray and do thou, oh Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of god thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen."

Dean understood now. Jim was giving Sam something to hold onto. Something to help him fight the Wraith. It was a good prayer, and a fitting one, considering what they did for a living. He would have to remember it.

He would remember it, because it was obviously something that Sam held close to him when he needed something to keep him grounded.

They both watched in silence as Sam's taut body relaxed somewhat, and he subsided into another coma-like sleep.

"You see now Dean? Sometime people need something to hold onto to keep them going. For your father that's you and Sam. For Sam, that's his faith in God and you. All you have to do is decide what it is that you need to keep you strong, and believe in it with everything you have in here."

The Pastor patted Dean's chest with a strong hand, and Dean looked at Sam.

Well the answer to that was an easy one. All he had to do now was find a way to keep him from slipping away.

TBC

* * *

A/N: I realise that whole 'It doesn't matter what you believe in, just as long as you believe in something,' thing is from Firefly, and I shamelessly manipulated it for my own use! It's just such a good saying….. 


	11. Love is a Battlefield

**Disclaimer: **Usual disclaimer applies- I still own nothing and I still cry about it

**Warnings: **John angst this time, and swearing, subjects which could offend (or confuse, take your pick…)

**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait, folks!! Had to take a break and get my mind back on track! I actually really like this chapter, and am fairly pleased with it. Let me know if you are too!

I've put another author's note at the end of this chapter, just to clear up some technical terms that are in this chapter. Have a read of them if you want to clear anything up. If that doesn't work, contact me and I'll help in any way that I can.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Part Eleven: **_Love is a Battlefield_

_- _

_I think it's because I'm clumsy_

_I try not to talk too loud_

_Maybe it's because I'm crazy_

_I try not to act too proud_

_They only hit you until you cry_

_And after that you don't ask why_

_You just don't argue anymore_

_- _

_My name is Luka by Suzanne Vega_

-

It was burning like cold fire and it was stripping away everything that made him who he was. It was taking his father and Dean and burning them from within him just like his mother had burned, and he could do nothing but scream uselessly.

It hissed at him. Hissed like the hungry beast it was, and it was hunting down everything that made him human. There would be nothing left for Dean to save before too long.

_Defend us in battle..._

Dean was always beside him. He didn't need to see him to know that. Dean would be there to watch him be destroyed by the Wraith. It wasn't right...

_Protection against the wickedness..._

Where was his father? He needed to be rescued. He wasn't strong enough to do it by himself. There was no way he could...He was the weakest one, the youngest one, the one who always needed protection. Look after Sammy, his father had always told Dean, keep him safe.

But who would protect Dean from Sam?

_Ruin of souls..._

_May god rebuke him..._

He didn't want to die. He didn't want to become as hollow as the Wraith was. He could feel its hunger, its greed and its thirst for what little strength he had left. It's anger would forever be burned within his soul, like a branded cattle. He would be forever tainted.

_Wickedness and snares of the devil..._

Who would protect Dean? Or their father?

He needed to be saved...He needed to save...He wouldn't be the reason that everything he loved in the world was burned like he would be. No.

If only he could...

_Safeguard and protection...ruin of souls...Defend us in battle..._

And while the Wraith fed off him, and struggled to claim his body, a plan was forming within the deepest, darkest depths of his mind, in a place that hadn't yet been corrupted.

Sam would find a way.

_Defend me in battle..._

_-_

"God, this is impossible," Caleb huffed, frustrated as he shoved yet another old book whose pages were yellow with age away from himself.

John didn't even look up.

"No it's not."

_'It can't be,'_ he vowed silently. He knew that there was a way to destroy this thing. It had yet to be found, that was all. It wasn't impossible for John Winchester, not when his son's life was at stake. He would find a way if he had to march down into hell and beat it out of the devil himself.

He would save Sammy. And he would save Dean's heart while he was at it too. Because if Sammy didn't pull through this then John knew within his heart of hearts that he would be losing two sons, not just one.

Dean and Sam were so entangled within each other that at times he was afraid they didn't know one from the other. They breathed the same air, they shared the same fears even if they didn't know it themselves. John had made them that way, intentionally or otherwise, he wasn't sure. And he wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse. Maybe it was both.

"I don't understand how this thing could have survived so long without anyone noticing," Caleb said thoughtfully. "Something with that much power leaves signs."

"Not the older ones,' John murmured as he flipped another page. "Older demons are smarter than younger ones. They know how to go unnoticed. And how to resist...exorcisms..."

John blinked and looked at Caleb with widened eyes. The younger man's gaze lit up as he realized what John was thinking.

"If a normal exorcism doesn't work on an older demon, then what do we normally do?" Caleb asked, excitement coloring his tone.

"We change it. We adapt it to suit the demon," John frowned now as he thought it over again. "But exorcisms aren't very effective on spirits possessing people...Hell, spirits don't usually possess people at all."

"Maybe not, but we're not dealing with a normal spirit are we? We're dealing with an abnormal Wraith," Caleb replied. "So if we combine one of the strongest demon exorcisms we have with a spell to banish spirits, maybe change the wording around a bit, we might have a winner."

"Can you do that?" a new voice asked.

They looked over to the door where Jim stood with two mugs of coffee in his hands.

"Theoretically, yes." John scratched his ear, still struggling to push his anxiety aside. "Practically, who knows?"

"We'll if it's all you've got after all this time, then I think you'd better give it your best shot," Jim informed them. "Sam's getting weaker. He won't be able to fight this thing for much longer."

"I'd better go and..." John made as if to get up, his need to be with his child stronger than he had ever felt it before. His hands were shaking constantly, and his mind was constantly turning to his two boys downstairs, wondering how much longer they could both go on.

He was cursing himself within his mind, screaming at himself for being so stupid, for dismissing this thing before he had really understood it.

Not for the first time, he felt like he was failing his sons. Failing the responsibility that Mary had left to him when she had died. The boys were her legacy to the world, and he was failing them and failing her.

He couldn't afford to fail any more.

"No John. Sam needs you up here." Caleb said quietly. "We need to get to work on the ritual. It shouldn't take more than an hour or two."

"You'd better get a move on. I'm not sure Sam has that much time left."

John got up to retrieve the books they'd need and wondered if they really had found the answer. He couldn't lose another person he loved. Sam was his child, a part of himself that he wouldn't let go. He hadn't been able to save Mary, but he'd damn well save Sam.

_Hold on, Sam. Just a little bit longer. Your daddy's gonna save you. _

_It'll be okay..._

_-_

John was ready to fall asleep and stay like that for the next hundred years. He hadn't slept in over a day, and before that he had been thinking about Sam so sleep hadn't been exactly peaceful. Right now though, all the Latin phrases were blurring together like gibberish.

Which, he supposed, they always had been. Never had he been called a model student, and when he had been forced to learn Latin, the lessons had been painstaking and frustrating. It had been important that he got it right, so he had never given up until it was all firmly embedded in his mind, but there had been a time when it had all seemed like some kind of alien gibberish. And the sad thing was, his own children spoke it ten times better than he did. Sure, he got it right for exorcisms, but they mainly consisted of the same words.

He had inwardly squirmed in embarrassment when he had once come across Dean and Sam having an entire conversation in Latin, and then arguing for hours on the proper usage certain words and correct pronunciation to boot.

The words ran together on the page, and he rubbed his eyes in an effort to make them focus once more.

"How you doin' over there, Caleb?" he asked gruffly, looking up for a moment.

His answer was a frustrated growl.

"This is harder than I thought it would be."

"Usually is," John replied. "Especially when it comes to your ideas."

"That's real cute, John. May I point out that this was in fact my idea and it's the only thing we've got going for us right now?" Caleb shot back with a tired smugness.

"I know." John ran his hands through his hair and hung his head, letting his exhaustion get the better of him for a moment. "I really appreciate you doing this for me, Caleb. I'll owe you big time."

"Hey," Caleb's voice was quiet. "Sam's worth it. And your boys...they mean a lot to me. I could never..."

He trailed off, and John listened without looking at him as the younger man cleared his throat. Hell, he was close to tears now himself. Tears of frustration, of anger and fear. John had never felt as close to breaking as he currently did, and it scared him more than anything. If they lost Sam...well, he wasn't so sure if he'd be able to keep it together enough to try and save Dean as well.

"Anyway, don't thank me yet. You can buy me a beer when this is all finished, and we'll call it even."

John nodded and returned his eyes to the text before him.

"How're you doing with the Latin wording, Johnny?"

"Feel like I'm running in friggin' circles chasing my own tail," he growled, clenching his fists and trying not to get angry and start throwing things. The only thing that would achieve was Jim's anger, and Dean's fear, and there was no way it would make him feel any better.

"I know how you feel. Jim needs to start organizing his shit, man. Alphabetically. Or maybe in categories. Like 'Relatively Easy to Understand', to 'Insanely Difficult' and right through to 'Hand Me My Gun So I can Shoot Myself'," Caleb grumbled.

John managed a humorless chuckle at Caleb's attempt to take his mind off of things, but it didn't do anything for him, and Caleb seemed to sense it too.

"Sam's going to be fine, John. When he's got people like you and Dean looking after him, there's no way he's going to get away from us."

"I don't need a pep talk, Caleb. What I need is my son back with me, healthy and whole. And if we're going to get him back then we need to keep working."

A sudden smashing of glass resounded through the house, and John's felt his heart skip a beat. John and Caleb exchanged a glance before surging to their feet and moving towards the door. Before they could reach it though, it slammed closed with a loud bang. John yelled out in fury and threw his body against it.

He knew that something had happened. Something bad had happened to Sam, and that Dean and Jim were probably in danger.

He threw his shoulder against the door once more, and when that didn't work he began to try and kick it open with his steel-capped boots. He needed to get to his sons, and if that meant he beat his fists raw and bloody, then by god, he'd do it in a heart beat.

"SAM!!! DEAN!!!"

With an almighty roar, he threw his shoulder at the heavy oak once more, and only succeeded in almost dislocating his shoulder.

"JOHN!" Caleb was shouting at him, and two hands roughly grabbed him and whirled him around.

"Calm the FUCK down, alright? You're no good to them like this." Caleb snapped at him.

John was momentarily ashamed before the fear took over once more. Except it was fear and anger combined, and he'd get his sons back if it was the last thing he did.

"Good," Caleb nodded approvingly once he calmed himself appropriately. "There's a window over here. I think we can climb down onto the back porch from here."

John nodded and slid the window open with more force than necessary and was slithering out of it within seconds. He could hear Caleb cursing all Winchesters, their stubbornness and their talent for getting into shit up to their eyeballs.

John had to agree with them. Nothing was easy with the Winchesters, and for some masochistic reason he wouldn't have it any other way.

He landed awkwardly on the slanting porch roof and cursed when pain flashed through his ankle. He took a moment to determine that it wasn't sprained before he was crouching down at the gutter and shimmying down one of the posts.

The moment his feet hit the ground, he raced towards the front door with Caleb hot on his heels. They burst through the door, John having drawn his ever present hunting knife, and Caleb sporting a loaded hand gun.

"Don't shoot Sammy," John ordered tightly as they proceeded cautiously down the hallway.

"I might not have a choice, John," Caleb replied softly, clearing the front sitting room.

"If you have to, shoot to incapacitate. Aim for his legs," John conceded with a tight throat.

_Forgive me Sammy..._

It was easier to get bullets out of legs, and impossible to bring someone back from the dead without making them into something evil. So shooting legs was the best decision.

A loud hammering came from the direction of the church entrance, and John nodded to Caleb who moved forward to investigate, his booted footsteps silent against the hardwood floors. John stood still for a moment; the sound of a door banging against a wall repeatedly was the only other noise, and a freezing cold wind whipped through the house, making John shiver in his jeans and t-shirt.

Gripping the knife hilt tightly with fingers that were cramped closed with fear, John moved once more down the hallway towards the dining room. His heart was pounding harder than it ever had, and John's gut was tightening in anticipation of what he would find.

The house was now dark and quiet. John came to a stop outside the room, and pressed his back to the wall, listening for any sounds of movement from within.

The only sound that greeted him was silence.

He risked glancing around the corner for the briefest of moments to assess the situation. All was still.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he slipped into the room, crouched in a defensive position as he took in the scene before him.

There was shattered glass on the floor near him, and Dean was sprawled by the wall opposite him, clearly unconscious. Dark blood was congealing in his hair, but John swallowed and did his best to finish surveying the situation before him before he rushed to Dean's aide. Assess the situation first and check for danger before tending to the wounded, John reminded himself. One of the first things they taught you in the marines. There was no use in treating the wounded when you were under attack. All that would do was ensure they you both ended up in body bags.

The large glass window that looked over the church grounds was smashed also, and the cold wind whipped the gauze curtains about.

The chalk on the floor was smudged, the salt scattered. The circle was broken. Sam was gone.

He relaxed his grip on the knife and straightened up. Within moments he was at Dean's side.

"Dean. Open your eyes son," he said gruffly as he pulled him into his eyes and began to tap his cheek gently. "C'mon kiddo. Wake up."

Dean groaned slightly, but wasn't any closer to waking. John gently pushed the hair away from the bloodied lump on Dean's head, and inspected the wound carefully. It didn't look too serious, but he would definitely have one hell of a headache and possibly a concussion when he woke up.

He quickly inspected the rest of him, searching for other injuries. When he found nothing other than a dislocated shoulder, John sighed in relief.

It was an easy thing to set Dean's shoulder straight once more. It popped back in place with a sickening sound that would make lesser men cringe. Dean didn't even stir, and John sighed as he ran his hand over his hair.

"What are we going to do, Dean-o?" he asked his son softly. "I'm at my wits end here. "

The ritual they'd been working on had been close to completion, and John had been getting a positive feeling about it. The odds of it working had been pretty good. But somehow, the Wraith must have sensed it was in danger and made a break for it. John didn't know how it had broken the circle, and the only logical explanation was that Dean must have had something to do with it.

He must've slipped somehow, and the Wraith had seen it's chance and made it's move. John wasn't angry at Dean, not really. He understood the uncertainty his oldest felt when it came to dealing with a possessed Sam. They were floating in uncharted waters, and John knew how easy it was to make mistakes when you didn't know what you were doing.

Hell, he'd made more than his fair share over the years. Perhaps the biggest mistakes he had made was when it came to Sam. The boy was a blessing. John could still see him when he was a bright little toddler at the age of three. He wished he had been able to share Mary with his youngest. He wished that he had been able to raise Sam, instead of having Dean do it. He wished that he had been able to lift the burden of responsibility from Dean's shoulders as most fathers did.

But wishing for things that could never happen was futile, and John was a practical man. So Sam had gone missing. However it had happened, they needed to get him back before he became a danger to others. And they needed to get him back before it was too late to save him.

Caleb came in them, helping a limping Jim.

"He okay?" Caleb asked abruptly as he helped Jim to a chair.

"He will be. He got a nasty knock on the head and a dislocated shoulder, but nothing too serious." John replied. "What happened Jim?"

"I'm not really sure," Jim replied with a grimace as he shifted. "One minute I was in the hallway coming to check on Dean and Sammy, and the next there was this freezing wind that blasted the windows and doors open. I was thrown backwards into the church, and the door slammed shut on me. Couldn't get it open until Caleb here came and let me out."

Caleb came over and crouched next to John, looking down at Dean himself.

"I think it's safe to say that it was the Wraith," he told John quietly. "I mean the wind, the drop in temperature. There's nothing else it could have been."

"I know. Help me get him to a couch," John slid his arms carefully under Dean's shoulders and around his chest. Caleb grabbed his ankles and they lifted him carefully into the next room, laying his gently on the couch. John lifted his dangling arms and laid them carefully across Dean's stomach, leaving one hand on a muscled forearm as he watched his son.

_I'm sorry Dean. We'll get him back, I promise you..._

"So what's the plan, John?" Jim asked from where he leant heavily on the doorframe.

"The plan is to go out there and find him. We need to get him back here and get the ritual over and done with. Sam doesn't need to suffer any more than he already has," John replied tightly.

He needed to keep control of his raging emotions if he wanted to get his Sammy back. If he panicked now and lost control, then none of them had any chance of things getting back to normal. Or as normal as things got for the Winchesters.

"It's not going to be easy," Caleb remarked quietly. "We're surrounded by forest and we're quite a ways out from town. There's farming land on either side of us, an abandoned industrial estate behind us, and the town in from of us. He could have gone anywhere."

"Well we'd best get started then, and not stop until we find him," John turned to look at them both. "We don't have any other choice."

"We could alert the authorities," Jim said. "They could help us find him."

John snorted. "They'll only get in our way. And once we find him, they'll cart him off for questioning like he's done something wrong."

"You don't know that, John. Besides...he could hurt someone."

"Sam wouldn't do that," John replied harshly, glaring at them both. "He would never hurt anyone."

"You're right, he wouldn't. But the Wraith would."

"The police wouldn't know the difference between Sam and the Wraith," Caleb said.

"Exactly my point," John ground out.

"But we need the manpower. We can't hope to scour acres of land before Sam gets into trouble. There's no way..."

"No." John bit out. "The police haven't ever been any help to us. They did nothing when Mary was killed, and they won't be any help now."

"It's not the same thing, John..." Jim began, but a hoarse groan from Dean interrupted, and John returned his attention to him.

"Can you hear me Dean?"

Dean's eyes fluttered, then opened and blinked lazily. "'ad?"

"Yeah, kiddo. It's me. Do you remember what happened?"

Dean squeezed his eyes closed in obvious pain.

"Shit...my head..."

"I know it hurts, Dean. You've got quite a bump there. If your head wasn't as thick as it is, you might've cracked your skull open."

One hazel green eye opened and focused on him. "That's real cute dad."

John chuckled and accepted the glass of water that Caleb offered. He held it to Dean's mouth, and watched as he swallowed gratefully.

"I try my best. What do you remember, Dean?"

Dean lay back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling and a frown on his face as he tried to recall what had happened. John watched as he brought his good hand up to massage his injured shoulder.

"I uh...Sam was...he wanted another drink. He was talking to me an' Jim not long ago, and the Wraith..." Dean's eyes shot open, and he looked at John with panic and fear in his eyes. "Where's Sammy, Dad? What happened to him?" he asked desperately.

"That's what we're trying to figure out now, son." Caleb injected. John shot him an annoyed glance before focusing on Dean once more. He reached out with a wash cloth and dabbed at the blood coating his forehead. "We need you to tell us what happened."

"Uh...it was Sammy. We were just talking...well, I was talking and he was listening. He told me he was thirsty again so I...I got him another drink and...when I gave it to him he grabbed my arm..." Dean brought his pained eyes up to meet John's, and John knew he was worried about displeasing him. He had always strived to do what he could to please John, and he knew it was because he was afraid of getting left behind. Of losing everyone he loved, and John had used that occasionally to his advantage. It was wrong of him, but it had kept them all alive when it mattered the most.

"You're not in trouble, Dean. Go on."

"One minute he was Sam, you know? And the next...he transformed into that...that thing and it pulled me across the circle."

"That's how it got out them. It used Dean to break the circle." Caleb spoke up. "It must've trapped us in the rooms then."

John nodded.  
"What then, Dean?"

"I went for the shotgun. I wasn't going to shot him or anything...just...it threw me against the wall and...it took my pendant...then I blacked out."

John frowned at that. That pendant was the most precious of Dean's belongings. It was a golden cross that Mary had worn to church on Sundays. He had let Dean keep it after her death, as a keep sake of sorts. Something to remember his mother by, and to his knowledge Dean had carried it with him at all times. He never wore it, just kept it in his pockets or in his wallet. Like he was carrying a piece of her around with him.

It was a holy object. If the Wraith had been in control, then it wouldn't have been able to touch it. If Sam was in control though...

John kept his suspicions to himself. If Sam had something to do with this, then he must have had a reason, no matter how twisted it was. It didn't matter at the moment anyway. First they needed to get his boy back, and then they'd worry about the details.

"You did the right thing, Dean." Jim spoke up from behind them. John nodded in silent agreement.

"What about Sam?" Dean asked again. "Where is he?"

He was tenacious, John had to give him that. He looked down into Dean's face once more.

"He's gone, Dean. Disappeared somewhere. But you don't need to worry because we're going to look for him now."

"Don't worry?" Dean asked hoarsely. "How can I not worry? Don't you care that your son is missing? Why aren't you more upset about this?"

"Dean," John said firmly, grasping his son's chin and making him look at him. "Do you trust me, son?"

"Dad..."

"Do you trust me?" John asked again.

Dean nodded slowly and swallowed visibly.

"Then trust me when I tell you that we're going to get him back. We're not going to lose Sammy, and you know why?"

Dean mutely shook his head, and blinked furiously to try and stop the tears brewing in his eyes from falling. John felt a rush of love for his attempt at bravery. When all this was over he would have to show Dean that it was okay to cry sometimes and that it was okay to be scared. If there was one thing he regretted it was letting Dean grow up thinking that showing weakness or emotion was a bad thing. Hell, maybe he would get Sam to do it. That kid seemed to have an endless fountain of emotions. He probably had emotions brewing within his thirteen year old body that hadn't even been named yet.

"Because it's our job to protect him. And it's our job to make sure that he stays safe. So we need to find him and get him back with us, where it's safe."

"Okay Dad." Dean's voice was hoarse, and he began to attempt to sit up. John splayed a hand on his chest and held him down.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to help you find him." Dean replied resolutely. "You didn't think that I'd stay here after that touching speech of yours did you?"

John frowned, less than pleased with Dean's attempt at humor.

"I don't think so, boy-o. You've probably got a nice concussion there. There's no way I'm going to let you go roaming about in the woods in your condition."

"I hate to break it to you, Daddy-dearest, but the only way you're going to keep me here is if you kill me." Dean told him, his jaw set in that stubborn way that reminded him so much of Mary. John hated that nickname, and they both knew it. For Dean to pull it out now told him that he meant business.

"I know Sam better then any of you. I know what he's thinking, and where he's likely to head. You need me to track him down. I'm not going to just lie here while he's out there all alone. You'd do the same if you were in my position Dad, and you know it."

John sighed, knowing that Dean had gotten the best of him. There was a quick flash of victory in Dean's eyes, before it was replaced with determination. When this was over, John would have to find a way of reminding him who was in charge.

"Let's get that head of yours cleaned up, and a sling for your arm then," Jim said.

John nodded and stood up.

"While you play nurse, I'm going to go and get what we need from the trunk," John told Jim.

He noted the flash of alarm in Dean's eyes, but he turned away before he could say anything. The weapons weren't to use on Sammy. John would use whatever he could to drive this thing into a corner. He would make it leave Sam if it was the last thing he did.

-

Dean sat at the kitchen table, holding completely still while Jim inspected his head closely. John dumped the duffle bag of weapons on a chair nearby. They had to be getting a move on soon; while Sam couldn't get far in his weakened state, the longer they waited, the further away he would get. Besides, the longer he was out there, the more worried he was getting. Not to mention Dean. He was having trouble just staying still for Jim. He was full of restless energy and a desperate need that John understood all too well.

"I think we may have a slight problem," Caleb announced grimly from the doorway.

"I think it's more of a slight problem don't you think?" Dean retorted. "Because I'd say Sam going missing is more of a major problem then a slight once."

John smothered his grin; Dean was always irritable when he woke up from head injuries. John had no idea why, and it would have been more amusing to see Caleb on the receiving end if the situation wasn't so dire.

"No, no, I know that," Caleb replied impatiently. "I meant more of a problem."

"What is it, Caleb?" Jim asked at he glared at Dean for moving.

"I was looking through your weapon stash, Jim, which might I add is very impressive considering your chosen profession, and I noticed that one of your guns is missing. The Taurus Magnum."

Jim stilled instantly before he lowered his hands from their work.

"The one in the right hand corner?"

"That's the one."

Jim said nothing, apparently unaware that John was exchanging meaningful glances and the Dean was looking on in confusion.

"What's so important about that gun?" he asked, sounding very young.

"I made the bullets for that gun myself," Jim answered slowly, but he was looking at John. "I made the bullets from silver, and I engraved them with blessings. They're holy bullets..."

The silence in the room seemed to ring in John's ears and his stomach was gnawing itself to pieces with worry. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Sam had something planned, and he prayed to whoever or whatever was listening that it wasn't what he dreaded it was. Why would Sam find a gun loaded with Holy bullets, and take off?

How would he even know that that particular gun was loaded with blessed bullets?

"It'll be okay, Dean," Jim was telling Dean quietly, and he tapped some gauze in place.

"You're damn right it will be." John snapped. "Lets get a move on shall we?"

"Sounds good to me." Caleb replied, as he loaded his prized shot gun. "I followed what tracks i could find. Seems like he's headed west. He can't have gotten far in his state. He's probably in the forest still."

"Here," John tossed Caleb a radio. "Jim, I take it you're staying here in case he comes back?"

"I think it would be best," Jim replied quietly, as he helped Dean into a sling for his arm. John slipped a handgun into his belt, and shouldered his own shotgun before placing Dean's before him on the table.

John nodded.

"I've got some friends in town who I think can help. They won't ask questions." Jim said. "I'll call them and get them to cover the other directions, just in case."

"I appreciate it." John said.

He watched as Dean got to his feet and set about collected his own weapons. He pocketed a small flask of holy water, and slipped a hunting knife into his boot. Two cases of shot gun ammo went into his pockets, and a sealed plastic bag of salt into one jacket pocket. He looked up when he felt John watching him.

"I'm not going to let Sam get hurt. Once we get this thing out of him, I'm going to make sure it can't get back in."

John felt a small flush of pride at the determination his son was showing. If he knew nothing else, he knew that Dean would fight heaven and hell to get his brother back.

"Good. But I don't want you to try anything until we're all back here. Nothing outside of this house, you hear?" he asked sternly, addressing all of him. "Tie him up, knock him out if you have to. Getting him back here is our first priority. Understood?"

"Yes sir," was Dean's immediate reply.

"Lead on, oh Captain, my Captain," Caleb grinned as he shrugged into his jacket.

Jim vanished, then reappeared, handing out small medical kits and bottles of water.

"He might be hurt," he explained quietly.

John gave him a nod of thanks, and tucked his away.

"I'll go and gather up my contacts."

John beckoned Caleb and Dean over to where he had a map of the area spread out.

"Well lets get going then. We're going to fan out, covering these areas..."

* * *

A/N: "Oh Captain, my Captain" is a line from a Walt Whitman poem called (funnily enough) Oh Captain, my Captain. 

The references to possession and spirits come straight from my admittedly limited knowledge on the subject. I have done some research, but most of this stuff is made up. Please forgive any mistakes.

Jim's hand gun the Taurus Magnum is actually called the Taurus Raging Bull 500 Magnum, but I figured that that's a bit too much of a mouthful for this! I found it online and thought it was a damn pretty gun. It looks a little like the Colt in the actual series! If you wanna have a squizz go to this website:

under the Taurus Double Action handgun section. Have fun and thanks for reading!

Next update soon!


	12. You Could Be Happy Without Me

**Disclaimer: **Still own nothing. Still bawling my eyes out….

**Warnings: **Very Explicit Language, blood and yes, that Wraith we all hate so much….oh and subjects which could offend!

**A/N: **YAY! Another update! Rejoice everyone! Moving on, I'm also quite pleased with this chapter. We're getting close to the end now, and I'm already thinking of writing a sequel. But anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

* * *

Part Twelve: _You Could Be Happy (Without Me)_

-

_See the chains which bind the men  
Can you taste their lonely arrogance  
Its always too late  
And your face is so cold  
They struggled for this opulence  
See the suns which blind the men  
Burnt away so long before our time  
Now their warmth is forgotten and gone  
Pretty maids not far behind_

- _Almost With You by The Church_

Dean stumbled over an invisible root, and cursed. The pain in his head and shoulder had been dulled somewhat by the strong painkillers Jim had supplied him with, but he was aching unpleasantly from his impromptu meeting with the wall.

Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket. When he really thought about it, none of it was anyone in particulars fault. They had all been negligent, including Sammy. There was no point in pinning the blame on anyone person, but Sam taking off was mainly his fault.

But how was he supposed to deny Sam anything when he had been that weak? He'd been thirsty, and Dean wasn't going to let him go without water.

And what the fuck was Sam thinking, taking that gun? Dean had known what his father was thinking, and he would be damned if he let that happen. He had seen it on his old man's face, and it had awakened an old fear that he had ignored for too long. He had gotten careless; he had taken too many things for granted and it was Sam who was paying the price. Their father had always told them that they were all alone in the world. That they shouldn't depend on anyone but themselves. He had forgotten that lesson, and now he was relearning it in the worst possible way. The only thing they had was family. It was the three of them against the world, the three of them against all the things that went bump in the night, and Dean hated his father just a little bit for forgetting that when they left Sam behind.

John had taught them to plan for the worst possible scenario, and Dean told himself that that was what Sammy had been doing. Taking that gun was his insurance, and it didn't make Dean happy.

Dean paused for a moment to catch his breath. The radio clipped to his jeans was crackling with static, and he listened to the communication going on between Jim and his father. With another curse, Dean pulled out his map and shone his flashlight on it.

"Goddamn it Sam," he muttered. "You want me to go prematurely gray don't you?"

He was right where he was supposed to be according to his map and compass. But it wasn't right. His gut was telling him to go in the other direction. Of course that would mean that he would be veering off the course his father had set for him, and disobeying a direct order. When his father had pointed out his route to him, Dean had known immediately that it was the easiest one; his father had been worried about his head wound, and the concern was undue.

"Screw it," he told himself.

Orders be damned, he was going. He knew Sam like he was a piece of himself, and he always trusted his gut instincts when it came to dealing with his little brother. Because 99.9 of the time he was right. Not that Sam didn't have the ability to pull one out of his ass and completely blindside him, but still.

He hadn't seen this coming that was for sure. And Sam always had to do things the hard way. Something about facing challenges head on and blah blah blah.

As if sensing his rebellious thoughts, his radio crackled to life once more.

"_How you doing over there, Dean?"_ his father's voice rang out strong and clear. Dean grumbled as he went for the radio.

"There's nothing here dad. No signs of him at all," he replied.

"I'm heading over to you," he added for good measure.

"_No Dean. You head back to the house and wait with Jim." _

Dean rolled his eyes. As if that was going to happen.

"_That's an order Dean." _John said sharply. "_You get your ass back there pronto and sit tight, you hear me?"_

"Yeah, I hear you. I'm heading back now."

_"Good. I'll check in with you in fifteen."_

The radio crackled again, and his father was gone.

Dean turned the volume down and clipped the radio back in place.

"Sorry Dad, but I gotta do this one my way."

He shone his flashlight around him, trying to decide on a direction to head in. North-west, his gut was telling him.

North-west it was.

"You just hang in there Sammy," he muttered to himself. "No kicking the bucket you hear? Cause you know I'll bring you back and kill you myself if you do..."

-

Dean was panting and slightly dizzy. He shoved a handful of vine out of his face, and stumbled out of the trees. Before him lay the industrial estate he'd been hearing about. It was coated in darkness but Dean was immensely relieved to see it. He'd been walking for a good half hour, and was beginning to get wonder if he wasn't wrong in his decision.

There was no sign of movement from below, but that didn't mean that Sam wasn't there. Dean's instincts were telling him that Sam was, and that was good enough for him.

_Always trust your instincts, Dean, _his father. _More often than not, they'll save your life._

Well that was what he was doing, and it felt right. Sam was waiting for him. Sam needed him, and he wasn't about to let him down after thirteen years of protecting him.

-

When he had first left the church, his flight had been desperate and panicked. All he knew was that he had to get away before the Wraith took control once more. He hadn't meant to hurt Dean, and he had barely been aware that he was doing it but somehow he had woken up a little and wrestled the Wraith back under control.

As he stared at the crumpled form of his brother, Sam knew that his chance had come. For a terrible moment he had thought that Dean was dead, that he had murdered his own brother. The blood on his brothers face had been vividly terrifying, but then he had seen the slow rise and fall of Dean's chest and he had known that he lived still. The Wraith then battered him back within his own mind for a moment, and Sam had screamed and struggled as the windows and doors blasted open in a shower of glass shards. Doors slammed and he could faintly hear his father and Caleb upstairs as he pushed the Wraith aside once more. That was when he had grabbed Dean's necklace, and found the gun and left.

His race through the trees had passed in a blur. He had fallen countless time, struggled back to his feet and kept fleeing as fast as he could. He needed to run, to get as far away as he could before they came looking for him. He needed to protect them….

When he came upon the abandoned buildings of the industrial area, he had breathed a sigh of relief before he staggered towards them.

Sam had read a poem once, and for some reason, this poem had been stuck in his mind ever since. He couldn't remember where he had read it; it definitely hadn't come from his father or Dean, because neither of them had ever had an appreciation for art, or poetry. They were useless things that couldn't be used for survival.

But to Sam, they were all the words that he couldn't ever dream of saying. The words that felt like they were trapped and frozen within his mind, waiting for an opportunity for freedom. He imagined that if his mother had been alive it would have been something they had in common. It was his way of being close to her when he had nothing else to remember her by.

The poem had probably come from Pastor Jim. While it was very metaphorical, there was one particular line that had been haunting him for awhile.

_This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper..._

And apparently, that was how he was going to go too.

Sam couldn't remember ever being so cold in his life. He could no longer feel his fingers or his toes; his whole body was throbbing numbly, and shivers wracked his body more often now.

Which wasn't surprising, considering he wasn't wearing anything except his cotton sleeping pants and an old t-shirt of Deans. If he really tried, he could have sworn he could smell Dean on the shirt.

Still, it didn't really matter because he wasn't expecting to live to see the morning. He could feel the cold metal of Jim's Taurus in his hand, and the sharp bite of Dean's necklace in his other. He hoped that they would both forgive him for taking what was theirs. He knew how much their mother's necklace meant to Dean, and he hoped that somehow it would find it's way back to him once more.

That was one good thing about this. He would finally get to meet his mother. He would finally find out if she smelled as nice as Dean had told him she did. Maybe she would sweep him up in her arms and hold him tightly, whispering in his ear and making him laugh as she had with Dean.

It would be nice, he thought numbly, to finally see her smile for himself.

He would miss them, he realized. He would miss Dean so much, and he knew that Dean would miss him too. There was nothing he could do about it though, except hope that one day he would be able to understand why.

Sam stumbled over a fallen beam, and found himself on the dusty floor of the factory. Well, it was a good a place as any, he supposed.

With limbs that were trembling with a bone-deep exhaustion, Sam dragged himself over to the nearest wall and propped himself up. The gun was held loosely in his hand, and he looked at it for a moment, wondering if he really had the guts to do this. Dean would, he knew.

God knew he had always tried to be like Dean when he was younger. Even now, he still admired him secretly, admired his confidence, his self-assurance and wished that he could be the same.

Now was his chance to prove to himself that he could be brave too. Just like Dean. Just like his father.

He looked past the gun to his feet. Blood was oozing from the cuts and scraps he'd gotten from running through the forest barefoot. It wouldn't matter before too long. Besides, it didn't hurt that much, because he couldn't feel his feet anyway.

He wondered if death hurt as much as it seemed to in the movies.

Sam opened his other hand, and looked at the delicate cross on its gold chain. It had once belonged to their mother. A sign of her faith, Dean had once told him. It was a small piece of comfort in this whole thing, and one he was grateful for.

"Okay, you asshole. Time for us both to die," he whispered, as he quickly wiped the tears on his cheeks away.

_Don't cry, Sammy. Don't ever show them that you're afraid, _his father had once told him. _If they know you're afraid, they'll use it against you. Don't ever let anyone see you cry..._

He wouldn't show this bastard that he was afraid. He would do his father and his brother proud. He would go down fighting because that was how they would want him to go. Sam took a shaky breath and bowed his head.

"Grant, we beseech thee, O Lord, that in the hour of death we be refreshed by Thy Holy Sacraments and delivered from all guilt, and so deserve to be received with joy into the arms of Thy mercy. Through Christ our Lord, Amen."

Sam opened his eyes once more, and tightened his grip on the gun and the holy cross, still praying silently that this would actually work.

It wasn't as hard as he had imagined. Somehow, he relinquished the temporary control he had over the Wraith, just enough so that it started to struggle with him once more. Pain gripped him and he cried out, clutching the cross tightly in his hand.

"You..." he gasped, as his body started to convulse. "You go...to hell..."

It was screaming in his head again, and the burning started in his chest. Sam screamed as the cross in his hand started to smoke, and the Wraith wailed as it felt the cross burning Sam's hand.

"Leave...my f-family al-lone..."

And then, all of a sudden, the Wraith was pouring out of him. Sam was choking on black smoke that as it streamed from his mouth. He couldn't breath, and his lungs were screaming at him but somehow, it registered that half the battle was already won. And then it was gone. He felt strangely empty.

But it wasn't dead yet, and Sam's body was wracked with pain. He could barely move, barely breathe, and he was sobbing with exhaustion. He could see it hovering in front of him, hissing angrily and watching him.

Somehow he managed to push himself up slightly on weak arms. He raised the gun and tried to aim it at the Wraith.

As he pulled the trigger, the Wraith vanished in a flash, and Sam knew he was in trouble.

-

Dean stood in the middle of a road that was riddled with potholes and cracks. The road was disused, and weeds were slowly regaining control of the industrial district. It was sad in a strange sort of way, a broken down reminder of the life that had once existed there.

He cursed again as he shone his flashlight down the road before him. There had to be at least twenty abandoned factories in the area, and each was falling apart and not easily accessible without considerable risk. He was afraid that one may just fall down on top of him and Sam if they ended up tussling with the Wraith in one.

So he just had to make sure he got Sam out before dealing with the slippery mother-fucker.

"You sure know how to pick 'em don't you, Sam?" he muttered.

That's the trouble with little brothers, he figured. You never knew what they were going to pull in order to get one over their elders.

Dean jumped mightily as the sound of a gun shot rang out. For a moment he stood frozen to the spot, before he was running, screaming out Sam's name at the top of his lungs. Fear pounded his heart and he fumbled for the radio at his waist as he staggered along as fast as he had ever ran. Fear had paralyzed his body and numbed his mind as he silently begged that Sam hadn't taken his own life...

"Dad?!" he shouted into the radio.

"_Dean is that you? Where the fuck are you?! I thought I told you to.."_

"Dad, I found Sam! I found him and I need your help!! Please dad, I think he's..."

"_Where are you Dean?"_

"Industrial estate! Please hurry dad, I'm going in after him!"

"_Dean, you need to..."_

But Dean dropped the radio and raced into the darkness of the factory from which the gun shot had sounded.

"Sam! Sam where are you?!"

From underneath him, a resounding crash echoed and for a moment he stared dumbfounded at the floor before he realized that the place must have a basement. He scanned the darkness frantically, looking for some sort of access point. There was a door at the opposite side of the factory, and it was partially obstructed by debris and part of the collapsed roof.

Cursing with language that would make a seasoned sailor blush like a virgin, Dean took off once more, leaping falling beams, sheets of metal and piles of crumbling bricks before he reached the doorway.

Another crash sounded, followed by Sam's pained scream.

"SAM!"

Dean had to shove at the door with his shoulder to make it wide enough for him to fit. He flew down the stairs, clattering noisily while he raised the shotgun and scanned the rank basement.

Sam was pinned to the wall near the ceiling, and for a terrifying moment Dean thought they were dealing with the nasty son of a bitch monster that had murdered their mother. Then he saw the Wraith hovering before Sam's weakly struggling form, watching with a malicious stillness that made Dean feel sick.

Sam couldn't breathe. He could hear his choking frantically for breath, and Dean's anger returned in full force.

"HEY!!"

He raised the shotgun and fired a warning shot near the Wraith. The black shadow turned and faced him, and Dean was treated to the narrowing of it's glowing eyes.

And then Sam fell. Dean heard the sickening crack of his head hitting the concrete floor, but didn't have time to really see how badly he was hurt because the wraith was flying at him in fury. Dean could practically feel the intensity of it's hunger, and he marveled that Sam had prevented it from killing him for so long.

"That's right, you ugly son of a whore. Come and get me you fucker." Dean yelled, firing the shotgun once more before turning and running back up the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder to check that it was following him before he was diving out the door and rolling, coming up with the shotgun raised. He fired again as the Wraith appeared, but was too slow. The wraith disappeared in the blink of an eye, and Dean cursed as he got to his feet.

It would be a bitch to kill, he knew that now. Not only because they had never come up against something like it before, but because they didn't know how to kill it. The only thing they could do was run and find some shelter until they could find a way. Dean wasn't about to leave Sam. And the likely hood of Dean being able to drag Sam all the way back to the church by himself was near impossible.

But if he could draw it away for long enough, then maybe Sam could get away….

Jim had said that the wraith was attracted to strong emotions, and that it would siphon the emotions right out of a person until they were dead. Dean was full of pent up rage and frustration. If the wraith wanted to feed, then let it feed of him. He had plenty of fury for the both of them.

"Come on, you mother fucker! Come and get me!" He shouted at the darkness, waiting for it to reappear.

A prickle of cold air on his neck was all the warning he had before he was flying through the air and crashing into a pile of empty barrels, sending them crashing in an avalanche of earsplitting noise. Dean groaned and paused for a moment to catch his breath before he began to try and sit up.

The wraith appeared once more, this time right in his face. Dean stared into it's empty eyes and knew that it was toying with him like a cat playing with it's food.

It hissed when it felt his boiling anger and adrenalin.

"You like that, you freaky bastard?" Dean growled at him. "There's plenty more where that came from!"

He brought the shotgun up and swung the barrel at it. Of course it flew straight through the incorporeal shade, and it disappeared once more. Dean leapt to his feet, ignoring all the parts of him that were bruised and protesting, and he stuck his hand into his pocket, opened the packet of salt he had stashed there and grabbed a handful. He kept his hand in his pocket, and once more looked around the area for the Wraith.

"Come on come on," he muttered, turning as he tightened his grip on the shotgun.

A moment later it felt like someone had thrown a giant, rock solid snowball at his chest. The air exploded out of his chest and he was thrown backwards again, this time colliding with a wall. He couldn't breath after the collision and he gasped as he struggled to draw in oxygen.

He definitely had some cracked ribs this time, if the sharp stabbing pain in his right side was anything to go by. His chest was alit with fiery pain; whatever had hit him in the chest had felt as solid as concrete.

"I-is that...all you got...a-asshole?" he gasped, and he rolled slowly into a half sitting position. Seemed he spoke too soon though because a moment later, he was shoved backwards until he collided with the wall once more. This time the freezing weight didn't lift from his chest. He was being crushed by some invisible force, and he couldn't breathe...

He needed to breathe...Sammy needed him...

Somehow he brought his hand up and threw the handful of salt in front of him. A screeching hiss greeted him, and the pressure lifted momentarily before returning twice as strong as it had been. If it wasn't angry when he had interrupted it from killing Sam, then it definitely was now.

Spots danced before his eyes, and his vision was swimming before him as he fought with all his strength to draw air.

"Y-you..hurt S-sa-am...I'm not g-going to...l-let you...get away...with...it.." he stuttered out, blinking furiously to try and straighten out his vision. All the while he was reaching out desperately, trying to reach the shotgun which he had lost when he had crashed into the wall. He could feel it, at his finger tips...if only he could reach just a little further...

Where was their father? He should have been...

All of a sudden, the pressure vanished and Dean sucked in a much needed lungful of oxygen and then another.

As he lay there gulping air into his oxygen starved body, he noticed that the freezing cold air that accompanied the wraith wherever it went had disappeared. He frowned as he scrambled for the shotgun, and looked around once more.

Movement caught his attention near the basement door and to his absolute horror, he saw Sam crawling from the doorway.

"Sam!" his voice was hoarse, but it carried well enough. "Sam, get back in there! You need to get back under cover!"

Sam appeared not to hear him, and Dean closed his fingers over the shotgun once more and lurched to his feet. He staggered over to Sam on legs that were refusing to co-operate with him and fell to his knees beside the prone form of his brother. How he had gotten up those rickety stairs when he was barely conscious was beyond him.

"Sam can you hear me?" Dean wheezed.

Every breath he took set off a burning pain in his chest, but it didn't matter. Not when Sam was before him and obviously badly injured.

Sam's face and neck were covered in his own blood, and it soaked into the neckline of his white shirt. Dean couldn't tell where the head wound was, but for it to be bleeding so badly meant that it was definitely serious.

He had dragged himself out of the basement using his forearms, and they were covered in deep gouges and grazes.

"Course I can..." was the slurred response. Dean could barely understand what he was saying. In fact, he was surprised the boy hadn't passed out from the pain. " 'm not deaf..."

"Okay, Sammy. I'm going to get you over there okay? It's..."

"Did you kill it?"

"No yet, but I'm working on it. We need to get you..."

"Not until it's dead. If I have to kill it myself, I'm going to finish this now," Sam cut him off, looking and sounding more alert.

Dean watched helplessly as he rolled onto his side and slowly pushed himself up onto his hands. Sam groaned and hung his head as the side effects of his very obvious concussion kicked in. Dean moved closer, and wrapped supporting arms around him.

"You can barely sit up, Sam. You can't fight this anymore. Let me take care of it now." Dean told him gently, as he kept an eye out for the wraith. It seemed to have backed off for the time being and was out there, watching and waiting.

Dean shivered as he looked into the darkness. So this was what Sam had felt like when the thing had first started stalking him.

" 'm gonna help Dean. I hafta..." Sam groaned, and almost collapsed back down. Dean caught him and pulled him to his chest, wincing at the fierce pain that radiated through him when Sam's weight fell on his chest.

"You have helped Sam. You've done enough." Dean was looking around for a place to hide Sam away until the fight was over. His eyes caught on a set of stairs that led up to a gallery like area. The gallery overlooked the entire factory floor and a small rundown office was jammed into one corner.

Perfect. Dean glanced at Sam, whose eyes were drifting closed. He jostled him gently.

"Come on, kiddo. I'm taking you up there." he pointed in the direction they were headed before he carefully pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders and grabbed his shotgun.

"More stairs?" Sam mumbled.

" 'Fraid so, Sammy. Reckon you can handle it?"

"Course..."

"Good. Up we go." Dean eased them upright, and wrapped an arm around Sam's waist. It took Sam a few long moments to get his feet under him. A moment later he was sagging once more and dry retching horribly.

Dean cursed as he was forced back to his knees. There was nothing for Sam to throw up, because he hadn't kept anything down over the past few days. He wasn't sure if he could handle vomit as well as a Wraith.

He noticed then that Sam was shivering next to him, and he kicked himself for not noticing that he was wearing little more than sweat pants and a t-shirt. And no shoes either. His feet were bruised and cut badly, and Dean hated himself just a little bit more for not noticing. As soon as they were relatively sheltered, he'd do something about it.

Sam finally stopped retching, and Dean rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"You ready to try that again?"

Sam nodded minutely, and Dean once more eased them upright. Sam swayed against him, but managed to remain upright without needing to retch anymore.

Dean supported as much of his weight as possible and hurried them over to the stairs. It was difficult going with Sam panting and stumbling beside him. Several times Dean thought he was going to pass out but somehow he managed to hold on.

He hadn't realized just how strong Sam had been before this. His ability to keep going when in great pain hadn't ever really seen the light of day, and Dean was prouder than punch. When all this was over, he'd have to let Sam know just how proud he was. Subtly, of course. Couldn't be giving the kid any more ammo to use against him.

They reached the bottom of the stairs quicker than he'd thought they would so he paused for a moment to let Sam catch his breath. Sam hung his head and closed his eyes for a moment, and Dean looked up the stairs in front of them and frowned in displeasure.

If they weren't in so much danger, there wouldn't be a chance in hell that Dean would let Sam anywhere near those stairs. They were badly rusted, and the handrail was missing in places. Dean doubted that they would be able to support a five year old let alone two teenagers, but they didn't have any choice at the moment. Dean had to get Sam to safety.

"C'mon, up we go Sammy."

The journey up was perhaps the hardest. Sam had trouble judging the distance between his foot and the actual stair so he was constantly thrown off balance and Dean had to be extra careful, making sure that he held onto him tightly lest he fall. He kept up the quiet encouragement, murmuring into Sam's ear while he kept up a constant vigil of what was going on around them.

Eventually, they reached the top, and Dean stumbled when Sam almost collapsed.

"No no, Sammy. Come on. I'm just gonna get you over there, then you can rest," Dean urged as he practically dragged his brother towards the run down office.

"No, Dean, please stop," Sam begged. "I need...I can't..."

Dean reluctantly came to a halt, and looked at Sam.

"Okay, Sam. Okay. We'll rest for a moment..."

"You-you d-don't understand..." Sam stuttered, shivering once more.

Dean lowered him to the floor gently and pulled off his jacket. He swung it around Sam's shoulders and noticed Jim's gun stuck in his waistband. Carefully, he pulled it out and examined it speculatively. It was an attractive looking gun, and Dean could honestly say that Jim had a fine taste in guns. And those special bullets it was loaded with could be useful too.

"Understand what, Sammy?"

"I need to...k-kill this thing s-so I can show dad that...I'm strong e-enough. T-that he doesn't have to worry about…me."

Dean stared at him for a moment. "Is that what all this is about, Sam?" he asked incredulously. "Proving yourself?"

Sam nodded jerkily and clutched Dean's jacket tighter around himself. He was shivering non-stop now, and Dean pulled off his sweater to wipe the blood off Sam's face carefully.

"M-maybe then he w-won't l-leave me behind anymore..."

Dean swallowed convulsively, and cleared his tight throat.

"You don't need to do that Sammy. Dad's not going to leave you behind again. I promise. I'm not going to leave you either."

A trembling smile touched Sam's mouth, and it warmed Dean's heart just a little. He returned the smile instantly.

"Now, you stay here while your big brother goes and saves the day."

"N-no Dean." Fear wiped away Sam's smile within seconds, and he clutched at Dean's shirt, his eyes pleading and desperate. "You can't. I-its too s-strong."

"Don't worry Sam. I've got it covered."

Dean finished wiping the blood from Sam's face, and cursed as it slowly began to trickle down once more. His shivering wasn't stopping either. Dean needed to finish this and get him to a hospital as soon as possible.

"No." Sam was partially glaring at him now, and Dean cursed the day Sam had gotten up the courage to stand up for himself. He cursed Winchester stubbornness, and he cursed his inability to deny Sammy anything. All in his mind, of course.

He looked down at the handgun he held, looked at the gleaming metal than up at Sam once more.

"Please, Dean."

He sighed then reached out and placed the gun in his younger brothers shaking grip.

"Okay, little brother. We'll do it together. You stay up here and watch my back. Only fire if you have a clear shot, understand me?" Dean told him.

He didn't want to get shot in the back by his own brother, however unintentionally. It would destroy Sam for sure. He could see Sam's hands trembling in the dark, but he knew that Sam was a good shot, no matter how dark it was.

"I understand Dean."

"I'll have the shotgun. I don't think you could handle the recoil in your state." Dean hesitated. "You still got mum's cross right?"

A look of guilt flashed across Sam's face, and he immediately pulled it from his pocket.

"Yeah, I...I-I'm sorry I took it. And I'm sorry a-about before, I just..."

"Save the apologies for when we get out of this," Dean grinned as he carefully took the delicate gold necklace from Sam. He looked at it for a moment, and wondered if their mother was watching over them.

He hoped she was. For both him and Sammy.

Carefully, he slipped the chain over Sam's head and touched the cross where it rested against his brothers chest.

"You keep this on at all times okay? It won't get inside you again if you're wearing this," he said quietly as he closed his fingers over the shotgun once more.

He prayed that it was true, although he doubted that it was. It made him feel better knowing that Sam was wearing it though. It couldn't hurt anyway.

"D-dean..." his brother's frightened whisper had his head snapping up instantly. He grabbed the shot gun up and whirled around, coming face to face with the shadowed face of the Wraith. It hissed gleefully at them, and Dean shivered as the cold air raised goose bumps over his skin.

They were so screwed….

* * *

TBC

A/N I realize the whole age thing is off putting. I plan on doing a general edit after this story is finished, and I'll fix the ages then. But just to clarify, Sammy is thirteen and Dean is seventeen.


	13. Lessons Learned

**Disclaimer: **None of the characters are mine. Sadly. I'm still in shock…

**Warnings**: Swearing, blood and Winchester angst. Enjoy!

**A/N: **I'm still in shock over the first part of the season finale and I'm still struggling not to cry. I CAN'T WAIT UNTIL NEXT THURSDAY!!!!

Anyway, back onto the story. Hope you enjoy this because it's one of the hardest things I've ever written, and somewhat of a challenge. Hence the lengthy delay in me posting. Let me know what you think, yeah?

There are a few more chapters after this, and possibly an epilogue. And, judging by how well I pull the rest of this off, possibly a sequel. Onwards my friends, and don't forget to review me!

* * *

Part Thirteen: _Lessons Learned_

-

_So soon may I follow_

_When friendships decay,_

_And from love's shining circle_

_The gems drop away!_

_When true hearts lie withered_

_And fond ones are flown_

_Oh! who would inhabit_

_This bleak world alone?_

The Last Rose of Summer by Thomas Moore

-

Sam responded immediately to Dean's frantic shout for him to get back. He scrambled away as fast as possible, the gun gripped tightly in his fist and clattering loudly against the metal beneath him.

The loud boom of the shotgun was deafening to Sam's ears, and he watched in horror as the Wraith disappeared once more, before reappearing in the blink of an eye right before Dean. For a moment, both Dean and the Wraith just stared at each other, Dean's face a mixture of fury and defiance and fear.

Fear for him, Sam knew, because he knew his brother better than anyone, and he knew that Dean had never had any concern for his own safety. He didn't care if he got hurt as long as Sam and their father were okay. It made Sam want to scream sometimes, because it didn't make any sense.

And there he was, boldly staring down the thing that had been tormenting him relentlessly. Dean didn't know the Wraith like he did; he didn't know what it was capable of. Sam knew that it could quite easily kill them if it wanted to (which it did) and it would when it had finished toying with them both. They had to destroy it before it had had it's fun, and before it killed Dean.

Sam screamed at Dean to get back but before his brother could, he was flying through the air, and crashing through the glass window of the office.

Sam stared dumbly as the glass showered down and Dean disappeared before he scrambled into action. He crawled desperately to the door of the office, still clutching the gun and aware that the Wraith was still behind him. His body was sluggish and awash with pain, and his vision danced sickeningly in front of him, but he could see Dean on the floor, covered in glass and blood. He was semi-conscious and Sam crawled over to him, gripping his shirt desperately before glancing over his shoulder to see where the Wraith was.

"C'mon Dean. You gotta wake up," he begged. "I need you..."

Dean groaned, and his eyes fluttered, but that was the only response he received. There was so much blood everywhere. Sam's fingered shakily searched for a pulse, and he breathed easier when he found one, throbbing strongly in his brothers neck. He was breathing steadily too, and a relieved sob escaped Sam as he dropped his pounding head onto his brothers chest.

He was okay. He wasn't in any danger yet. There was enough time for Sam to get him some help. But there was so much blood...

Sam breathed in the scent of his blood and sweat and _Dean. _ Dean, who had always been there for him, through thick and thin. Dean, who was his brother, and his best friend and the one who had taught him everything he knew and more. The one who had come here to save him knowing full well that he would be risking his own life to do so.

Sam breathed in again, and just thinking about how strong Dean had always been for him calmed him down automatically, as it always had.

It was his turn to be strong this time.

"It's okay now Dean. You don't need to worry about me anymore," he whispered into the warmth of Dean's chest. "You just rest."

Clumsily, he fumbled for the handgun and closed his freezing fingers around the grip. He needed to end this quickly, because he was losing strength and he was losing it fast.

" 'am..." Dean groaned, his eyes still closed.

"Shh, Dean. You stay here. I'll be back..."

Sam made sure that the shotgun was close to Dean in case he needed it when he woke, before he grasped onto the edge of a nearby table to help pull himself upright. He sagged against the rotting wood, the gun clenched tightly in his hand. Bile rose in his throat and vertigo threatened to get the best of him but he stubbornly held on and waited for it to pass.

He almost threw up again, but he breathed deeply and blinked rapidly to try and get rid of the black spots that were dancing before his eyes.

The Wraith appeared in the doorway and Sam tried to calm his beating heart.

_Stay strong, Sam..._

_Don't ever show them that you're afraid..._

He needed to draw the Wraith away from Dean, who was vulnerable and unable to defend himself. At least if the Wraith was concentrating on him then Dean would have a chance to wake up and defend himself.

_"_I've already lost enough," Sam muttered, struggling to stay upright even with the help of the rickety old desk. "I'm not going to let you have Dean too..."

His only reply was a primal hiss.

"Figures you can't talk. At least you would've been able to tell me why you're doing this to me..."

The Wraith's eyes bored into his own, staring endlessly, emotionlessly. Sam snorted at himself. There was no reason for destroying lives. Just mindless, reasonless evil.

"Fine. You want to kill me?" Sam slurred, talking more to himself than anything. "Bring it on."

That seemed to be what it had been waiting for because Sam felt freezing pressure surround him and start the squeeze.

He gasped for breath and struggled to fight against whatever it was the was holding him immobile but to no avail. The Wraith hissed, narrowed it's eyes and moved closer, watching with obvious glee as Sam fought.

It felt like someone had inserted a red-hot hook into his stomach and was slowly dragging it up. He could feel his strength being sucked out of him, and it was becoming harder and harder to breathe.

Oh god, it was finally...this was what it wanted. It was going to rob him of what little strength he had left, then take possession of his body as he died. His own body would become a puppet to the Wraith, and then...and then the Wraith would kill Dean, and their father and everyone he had ever loved. It would terrorize anyone it came across, killing mercilessly using his face, his hands...

Sam couldn't let that happen. Even if it meant that he died in the process, he wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't imagine his face displayed on televisions and newspapers alike, accusing him of killing his own family. A cold blooded murderer.

And yet he was getting weaker. He couldn't move at all and he was going to die here in a run down, rotting warehouse. Seemed a fitting end to a life lived in the shadows, but not one he wanted.

Sam didn't want to die. He didn't want to leave Dean and he wanted to work things out with his father. Why had he been so eager to sign everything away a few hours ago? Why had he been so eager to die when he was so terrified now?

It didn't make any sense. It never had. Just like the Wraith. The Wraith was an anomaly, and perhaps Sam was too.

"Y-you can't..."

And then all of a sudden he was released. He half collapsed to the dirty floor, and gasped for much needed air. It filled his lungs, sweet and cold and Sam felt dizzy again. His vision whirled unsteadily but he managed to turn his head and look at Dean, who was still lying on the floor surrounded by glittered shards of glass.

He was starting to move a bit more, but he was no closer to waking up. No help to be found there then.

Sam struggled to find his feet. Amazingly, he managed once more, though he swayed dangerously and staggered when the world swayed. He was seeing double of everything, and the Wraith became a black blur before his eyes, complete with two glowing eyes that seemed blindingly bright to him.

He lifted arms that seemed to be made of lead and tried to focus on the Wraith. He had to grip the gun with both hands to stop it from falling.

Taking a breath that caught in his throat, Sam squeezed the trigger and staggered when the recoil hammered into him.

The Wraith hissed angrily, having escaped the bullet. All things considered, Sam's aim had probably been way off anyway. But the Wraith seemed to realize that the gun held a real danger and retreated from the office room.

Sam felt a surge of accomplishment; it was a start a least.

But before he could gather his wits to try and think of the next move Sam was hit by a blast of ice-cold energy that sent him flying through the window Dean had broken.

He landed awkwardly on the hard metal floor outside, the air forced painfully from his lungs and the gun sent clattering when he lost his grip.

Sam rolled over and reached desperately, but it was too far away, teetering on the edge of the mezzanine and threatening to fall to the factory floor at any moment.

The Wraith appeared between him and the gun, and Sam attempted to pull himself upright once more and put some distance between him and it.

The Wraith had other plans however, and it drifted closer to him. Sam propelled himself backwards desperately, looking for something, anything he could use as a weapon. There was nothing but a stack of rotting crates and a couple of rusting barrels. Not that it would be of any use against a incorporeal being, but he needed something to use as a distraction so he could get to the gun and put those blessed bullets to good use.

He'd heard somewhere that Wraiths could be destroyed by holy weapons. Whether that included bullets that were blessed had yet to be seen. If he had holy water or something of the like, it might have made a difference. But he had to work with what he had. He didn't need to worry about the Wraith getting possession of him while he was alive because Dean had made him put on the necklace...which was….holy...

Suddenly an idea struck him. It was risky, and he'd likely die anyway but as long as the Wraith was destroyed, it didn't really matter did it? He needed to make sure that it didn't hurt Dean anymore than it already had. It was his turn to protect Dean, and he'd be damned to hell if he didn't do it right.

Sam's hand fell on something cold and small and he grasped it without looking to see what it was, keeping his eyes on the Wraith at all times. His heart was pounding savagely in his chest and his breath rasped loudly in his ears.

_Defend me in battle. Be my safeguard and protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil..._

He hurled whatever it was in his hand at the Wraith as hard as he could and watched as if vanished again.

_Thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls..._

Once the Wraith had vanished, Sam dove towards the gun that was resting at the edge of the platform with the desperate hope that it wouldn't fall. His fingers touched the cold metal as he landed on his stomach, and for a moment he thought that the gun had been knocked over the edge. But somehow, he retained his grip and managed to wrap his fingers around the grip.

Sam lurched to his feet and whirled around the face the Wraith, bringing the gun up as he did so. With one hand he gripped the cross that hung at his neck, with the other he held the quavering gun aimed at the Wraith.

"The light of God surrounds me," Sam managed through his labored breathing.

The Wraith was infuriated, and it rushed at him faster than he could keep track of. He tried to steady his trembling arm, and to stop his vision from swimming before him as he struggled to concentrate on speaking the words and breathing steadily as his father had taught him

"The love of God enfolds me."

He braced for the recoil and pulled the trigger once, purposefully missing and hoping that it would slow it down a bit.

"The power of God protects me."

As predicted, the Wraith kept coming, dodging the bullet with ease. Sam felt that frigid pressure surround him once more, trying to keep him immobile. Through chattering breath and strained breathing, Sam continued

"The presence of God watches over me."

The Wraith was close now, and Sam felt the last of his strength being drained out of him. His knees began to give out, and Sam's heart beat impossibly faster as it struggled to keep its hold on life.

"Where ever I am God is," he whispered. "Go to...hell you...son of a...bitch."

Sam closed his eyes when the Wraith was on him, its last attempt to possess him. As it surrounded him, he pulled the trigger and gripped the pendant so tightly that bold ran from between him fingers.

With a cry of rage, Sam pushed against the Wraith with the last of his mental strength as he kept pulling the trigger until the chamber was empty, words from every prayer he knew tumbling within his mind. Blood dripped from his fist slowly.

As each of the bullets pierced through the shadow that was the Wraith, it screamed an ear splitting scream and disappeared for the last time in a blinding flash of light and a blast of frigid wind that buffeted his aching body.

The pressure was gone. Sam was alone once more. The Wraith was finished.

The breath was sucked from his chest as the realization hit him. Finally, his knees gave out and he collapsed against the rusted railing behind him. For a moment, all was well, and Sam was crying as he felt a weight the size of the world lift from his shoulders. He was free...

Suddenly, a painful screeching sounded, and the rail Sam was leaning against gave was.

And then he was falling...

-

The sound of blaring gunfire had John and Caleb leaping from the truck, shot guns in hand and racing towards the factory. Johns heart was pounding with exertion and panic, and he prayed that the boys were okay.

He was furious and terrified and the whole thing had spiraled out of control too quickly for him to be able to do anything but watch helplessly.

Caleb was fell behind as John raced as fast as he could towards the open door where the battle was raging.

He prayed that Dean had found Sammy alive. He prayed that they had been able to hold off the Wraith long enough for them to arrive, and he prayed that there was someone somewhere watching over them.

He should have been watching over them, but he had failed in that duty. Now wasn't the time to be wallowing in self-recrimination and hatred though.

Flash light and shot gun at the ready, John kicked the door open further and burst inside.

"DEAN?! SAM?!"

Caleb was at his side in moments, and for a moment, they stared around trying to find wherever the battle was taking place. All was quiet. The gunfire had stopped.

_Please don't let me be too late...please..._

A loud thud echoed in the darkness, and they whirled around, the light from the flashlights reaching out and illuminating a still lump on the other side of the factory.

John took off before anything really registered in his mind. He skidded to a stop and fell to his knees beside the still body of his youngest.

"Sammy..." his hand was shaking terribly as he reached out and gripped his shoulder.

Blood coated Sam's face and soaked his shirt and he was clearly unconscious. His skin was cold to touch and one of Sam's legs was twisted at a sickening angle.

John was unaware of the tears that were coursing down his face.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?"

There was no response. John set about searching for a pulse, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he found once, weak and fluttering against his finger tips.

"He's still alive," he murmured.

"I think he must've fallen from up there," Caleb said after a moment. "I'll go and check it out."

"Find Dean," John called after him.

He pulled out the first aid kit that Jim had supplied him with, and the bottle of water.

"Don't you die on me Sam. I forbid it, you hear me?" John was whispering under his breath. "Once you're all better, you and me and Dean are going to go on a holiday. You'd like that wouldn't you?"

He set about meticulously wiping the blood away in search of the head wound. When he found it, he ignored the way his stomach sank, and his bile rose in his throat. Ignoring the white glint of skull, John placed a wad of gauze against the wound, and bandaged it in place as carefully as possible.

Once the wound had pressure on it, John pulled out his cell and dialed 911. Normally he wouldn't bother, because they all knew how to deal with injuries, but when a fall was involved, it wasn't anything to fuck with. There was a the possibility of spinal injuries, and there was no way in hell John was going to make it worse for Sam.

John spoke briskly as he kept his eyes on Sam, giving the address then throwing his phone away from him.

Gently, he ran his hands over Sam's unconscious body, pulling up his shirt and hissing in dismay at the dark bruising on his abdomen. There was definitely internal injuries. And that leg...

There was a very obvious deformity of the femur, which was one of the strongest bones in the body and one of the hardest to break.

"Jesus, Sammy. You're a mess." John said quietly.

He took one of Sam's bruised and scraped hands in his and stroked a strand of blood soaked hair off his sons face.

"Don't you worry, Sammy. You're old man's here now. I'm going to make this better."

A loud clatter and a muffled curse sounded from the upper level of the factory, and John tore his gaze away from the broken body of Sam and looked up to see Caleb stumble to the stairs, supporting Dean.

It appeared that Dean was semi-conscious, and Caleb kept muttering curses as he struggled to maneuver Dean down the stairs.

Dean looked like hell, but he was still alive and able to walk, which was a good thing. He was covered in blood as well, and had a large, bloody lump near one temple.

"Shit," Caleb cursed again, as he carefully lowered Dean to the floor next to Sam. "Found him upstairs in the doorway of an office. Seemed he was thrown through a window. There's no sign of the Wraith anywhere."

"Which can only mean that it's back in Sam," John murmured, looking back down at his youngest again, to where he grasped Sam's limp hand in his own.

"No...S'not," Dean's slurred voice met their ears and John whipped his head up to look at him.

"Dean?" Caleb tapped Dean's cheek lightly.

Most of Dean's weight was against Caleb's chest, and he listed there before his eyes blinked open and he looked blurrily back at John.

"Sam killed it," he told them, struggling to form the words. "Saw it die with my own eyes. It's gone."

"But...how?" Caleb asked, apparently dumbfounded.

"Beats me," Dean closed his eyes and leant more heavily into Caleb. " 'm tired..."

"Don't go to sleep on me, kid. I'm not carrying your sorry ass to the car." Caleb jostled Dean slightly, wary of his injured head.

That was two head injuries in one night. It couldn't be good. If anything, he'd have a killer headache for the next few days, John knew.

"How's Sam?" Dean whispered, his eyes closed. "He okay?"

"He's fine," John answered bluntly, returning his attention to Sam.

He was still unconscious and showing no signs of waking. John knew how to check for signs of responsiveness, but he dare not test any of them because of the possible internal injuries Sam had sustained.

The wail of distant sirens greeted John's relieved ears and closed his eyes for a moment before he leant forward and pressed his lips to Sam's forehead.

"Don't you worry Sammy. There's help on the way. Me and Dean won't be far away." he whispered for his ears only as the ambulances pulled up. Flashing lights lit up the factory, and Caleb met his gaze steadily.

They'd come up with a cover story on the way here so they wouldn't be caught out, and it was a good solid one. All John had to do now was make sure that Sam had the best treatment possible.

He touched Mary's golden cross reverently where it lay against Sam's chest. He hoped it had protected him.

"You'll be okay, Sam," John whispered as the paramedics rushed over. "I'm going to make sure of it."

-

John had talked to so many people over the last eight hours that they were all blurring together into one generic face - police, hospital staff, Caleb, Jim, they all looked the same and it mattered little to him.

He was so exhausted that he was ready to drop where he stood. In fact, it was probably sheer willpower that was keeping him on his feet.

Dean had been given the all clear. He'd suffered several bad lacerations and had received over a hundred stitches in all. There was severe bruising on his chest where (according to Dean) the Wraith had tried its best to make him one with a wall. His dislocated shoulder had been aggravated and had been placed in a specialized sling. The two bangs to the head had combined into one more serious concussion. He'd been given a hospital room and was being kept in for observation for the next few days.

Sam's condition, on the other hand, was still unknown. He'd been whisked away by hospital staff the moment they'd arrived and John hadn't seen hair nor hide of him for almost eight hours. His doctor too, had been noticeably absent too, and John hoped that was because he was busy treating Sam.

John looked down at Dean, who was resting peacefully before him. He'd been given pain killers and John was determined that he'd rest uninterrupted for awhile longer yet.

All of them were exhausted, and while the relief that this was over was palpable, it had been over shadowed by Sam and Dean's injuries.

John was too tired to even begin to consider what to do next.

A soft tap on the door frame alerted him to Caleb's presence. The younger hunter had returned to Jim's to shower and change and collect some things for Dean and Sam. Jim had called off the search for Sam and was probably clearing up the mess they'd left the place in. He'd have to find some way to make it up to him, John thought to himself.

"Any word yet?" Caleb asked in hushed tones.

John shook his head wordlessly, returning his gaze to Dean.

Caleb set down the bag of Dean's things by the door. "I think I'm going to go and see if I can hassle some information out of the nurses. I'll be back."

John nodded, distracted by the cuts and bruises on Dean's face. He reached out and traced a finger over one of the high cheek bones softly.

It wasn't the kind of life he'd wanted for either of his boys. He'd wanted desperately to find a place they could settle down and make a home for themselves. He'd tried too, but no place seemed to take. Both Dean and John had been on the road too long to want anything other than stretching roads and the freedom to decide where to head next.

Sam was different, he knew. He had always known that. Sam needed a solid foundation to cling to when he had nothing else. Both he and Dean had done their best to give him that, teaching him solid morals and rules, but it wasn't really enough, and it never would be. Sam was the type of person who was always searching for something he could never find, always reaching for something more. It was a large part of what made him who he was, and who he would eventually be.

John could remember the endless questions Sam had when he had been just a little tyke, and burning with curiosity to learn everything he could about every damn thing that happened. It had been a point of great frustration for John and Dean, those questions that seemed to come out of no where. The answers that they both came up with were always inadequate to Sam, so he usually went off and found his own solutions. Sam was fiercely independent, and had always seemed older than his thirteen years.

He couldn't imagine what the world would be like if Sam wasn't in it. He didn't want to either.

"If only your mother was here," he murmured sadly to his oldest. "She would know what to do. She had an answer to every damn thing."

The worst part was, John wasn't sure if he could ever heal the wounds that Sam had suffered over the past few weeks. Wounds that he had inflicted, and the wounds that had been inflicted by the Wraith.

Yet again, while they had all been scrabbling around for answers, Sam had taken matters into his own hands and found a solution himself. And almost gotten himself killed in the process. While he greatly admired Sam's courage and strength in the face of adversity, he would have to have a talk with him about it. Everything Sam had done had gone against everything he had been teaching them both. They were a team. They worked best together as a team, and they won as a team.

But then, he had been the one who had bailed on Sam first. He had left Sam in a corner to defend himself. It wouldn't happen again, John told himself. Not ever.

"Excuse me, Mr Turner?"

A middle aged doctor knocked softly on the door and John turned to face him.

"That's me."

"Can I have a word?"

John nodded and followed the doctor out into the hall where Caleb waited.

"My name's Doctor Amal," the doctor introduced himself. "I'm Samuel's doctor."

"John. This is my brother Caleb," John replied as he shook the man's hand. "What can you tell me about my son?"

"Your son was seriously injured from the fall," the doctor began. "He's sustained an Intracranial Hematoma."

"What's that?" Caleb asked blankly.

"It's when a blood vessel in the brain bursts as a result of a traumatic head injury, and blood begins to gather between the brain and the skull. We've had to drill a hole in Sam's head in order to drain the blood. At the moment we've managed to stabilize him, and we're monitoring him very closely."

"And what about his other injuries?"

"There was some internal bruising around several of his organs, but no serious bleeding. He was lucky that he hasn't got any apparent spinal injuries. The broken leg was severely damaged, but the surgery was successful. It'll take him awhile, and some therapy but he'll be able to walk again."

John breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall behind him. Caleb clapped him on the shoulder, unable to keep the grin off his face.

"That's great news doc!"

The doctor nodded and smile. "He's a very lucky young man. However, it will take quite awhile for him to recover completely. Head injuries such as his can take up to six months or more to heal. He'll experience several side effects for awhile as a result..."

"What kind of side effects?" John asked immediately.

"Well, he'll be on medication for awhile to help prevent post traumatic seizures. He could experience amnesia, anxiety, head aches and problems paying attention. This could continue for a few months after he's out of hospital. The leg will take several months to heal. He'll experience a degree of discomfort from the extensive bruising, and he's quite weak," the doctor looked at both of them once more. "It's going to take awhile for him to recover completely. It's going to take a lot of patience on every ones behalf, and it's not going to be easy for young Samuel."

"I don't care how long it takes," John replied gruffly. "As long as he gets better."

The doctor nodded, seemingly satisfied.

"Can we see him doc?" Caleb asked.

"He's in post-op at the moment. He'll be out in an hour or so and once we've got him settled I'll send someone to fetch you."

"Thanks doc. Appreciate it," John shook the mans hand from his spot on the wall.

"See?" Caleb said once the man had left. "Told you he'd be okay."

John rolled his eyes. "If i took your word on everything, Caleb, I'd probably be dead already."

"Aw, c'mon. You don't need my help for that, you stubborn son of a bitch," he grinned.

"Goddamn, Caleb, spare me the lecture. Help me to a chair before I collapse."

* * *

A/N: The prayers used in this chapter are The Prayer to the ArchAngel Michael and the Prayer for Protection by James Dillet Freeman. (This prayer is rumored to have been carried on one of the people who walked on the moon. I thought it was cool!)

All the medical facts were found by myself on the net, and from what I can tell, they're as accurate as possible. Forgive any mistakes!


	14. Nobody's Fault But Mine

**Disclaimer: **As usual, nothing has changed since my last update and I still claim no ownership to the characters or the concept of Supernatural. Poor me.

**Warnings:** Nothing much in this. A little angst, mentions of medical procedures but nothing graphic. Possibly some swearing, I can't really remember. You get the drift though.

**A/N:** I'm not the only one still in shock over the last episode am I? Although Sam can't be dead….rite? I've seen the preview for next week, and they'll definitely come up with some way to bring him back, won't they? Some one reassure me, damn it!!! To help comfort me a little, here's another update to take our minds off things. Mainly Dean-centric, the next chapter or so will focus on him and the brothers relationship. ENJOY!!! And don't forget to try and smile, peoples!!!

Things in italics are flashbacks/memories

* * *

Chapter 14: _Nobody's Fault But Mine_

_I sent it off in a letter  
I need somethin' better  
Than a nail and a hammer  
To put me back together  
But this ain't my first ride   
It ain't my last try  
Just got to keep a-movin on  
Got to keep this together  
Maybe next time is never_

Bleeders by The Wall Flowers

-

"So tell me the truth. How is he?" Dean asked, looking up at his father.

Despite being doped up to his eyeballs, Dean was feeling pretty clear-headed. It probably helped that he couldn't feel the pounding headache he definitely had. And all those cuts and stitches. He had an ugly purple and black bruise covering his chest that made him wince to see it.

Despite all that though, he wasn't so sure that his father looked any better. And he hadn't even sustained any injuries.

Stubble was growing thickly on his fathers face, and he looked completely wrecked. The circles under his eyes would put an emo punk wearing eyeliner to shame. His shoulders were hunched even as he sat slumped in the chair beside Dean hospital bed.

"He's pretty banged up and it's going to take awhile for him to get back on his feet, but he'd doing okay," John replied, his voice as rough as gravel. "The doctors are optimistic."

Dean nodded, relieved. He still couldn't believe it was all over. That thing was finally gone, and he couldn't help but feel proud of Sam for accomplishing the task. He'd been completely out of it for the most part, but had woken up and dragged himself towards the doorway in time to see Sam fall. He'd passed out again then, and had woken up when Caleb had hauled him upright.

Still, he wouldn't be satisfied that Sam was really okay until he could see him with his own eyes. He'd slept most of the yesterday, and was getting anxious to see him.

"You know he did it for you, don't you?" John broke the uneasy silence.

Dean looked up at his father in surprise.

"Did what?"

His father was watching him, with a shadow of sorrow in his dark eyes. Dean stilled, almost afraid of what he was about to say.

"He killed that thing for you. Because he was afraid that it would go after you next. He was willing to die for you."

Dean swallowed, and blinked away the tears that flooded his eyes.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like that. I was supposed to...supposed to save him. I would have too, if it hadn't been for..." Dean coughed slightly, trying to clear his impossibly tight throat. "When I saw him in there...pinned to the wall, I thought he was already..."

He was trying his very best not to break down in front of his father, because he knew he had to be strong to keep a hold of everything he loved but sometimes it was just so hard. And Sam had almost died that night. The fear and absolute anguish he felt when he even thought about what could have happened was enough to break him.

"Dean..."

"I tried Dad. I thought he was...I thought he was dead but I still couldn't save him..." Dean choked out, his hands clenching his blankets.

"Neither of you should have been there. You shouldn't have disobeyed me, and he shouldn't have run off in the first place," John said tightly. "If we had stuck to the original plan things wouldn't have turned out like this."

Dean let his father's disappointment wash over him, and kept his head lowered, unable to meet his eyes and see the recrimination there.

"But if we had stuck to the original plan, then Sam might have died anyway."

Dean's head shot up to meet his father's steady eyes. There was anger burning there, and a myriad of different emotions that he couldn't put a name to. He felt frozen as he tried to wrap his head around what his father had just said.

"W-what?"

"There was no guarantee that the plan would have worked. We were taking a stab in the dark with no clue if it was the right direction. What I'm trying to say is..." his father cleared his throat this time and looked down at where his hands rested in his lap. "No matter how hard we try, things don't always turn out as we plan. Even the best thought out plans go wrong, Dean. All we can do is be aware of that and be prepared."

"But what about...I don't understand." Dean said helplessly. "We could have saved him if we..."

"No Dean. We all made mistakes this last few weeks. All of us. Shit, we should know by now that Sam will do things his way. Always has. He pulled himself out of this one. Not us."

Dean nodded silently. A part of him hated the fact that Sam didn't need to rely on him anymore. If Sam even depended on him a little, then Dean would have some reassurance that he could protect Sam to the best of his ability. But if Sam didn't need his protection anymore, if he could look after himself...

Dean had always identified himself as the older brother, the protector, the mediator. If he was no longer those, then what was he?

"Don't think this gets you off from disobeying a direct order though," John told him, his voice hardening with anger. "When you're fully recovered, you can expect to be cleaning guns and the Impala for months. If not the rest of your life."

Dean swallowed.

"Guess I should have seen that coming, huh?" he asked hoarsely, trying to lighten the oppressive atmosphere.

John smiled at him. "Yeah. You should've."

Dean clenched his jaw to stop it from trembling,. He felt weak as a kitten from physical exhaustion, but the emotional trauma of what had taken place little more than 24 hours ago was far more draining than any injury.

"Dad...I'm sorry."

His father blinked, looked surprised and sat up a little in the uncomfortable chair he had collapsed in.

"What for?"

Dean took a moment to clear his throat and decide what he was going to say. Words didn't come easily to him and his father. Not like they did to Sam. And apologizing was even harder.

"I was scared, the other night. I screwed up. I didn't protect Sammy like I should have..."

"Dean. You did the best you could. I know it and so does Sam."

"But still, I thought I was stronger than this. Thought I could deal with it better than I have been. I just wanted you to know that next time I'll try harder."

His dad stood up suddenly, and paced away from him to stand at the window with his back to Dean. His shoulders were tense, and one hand rasped over his three day growth. Dean waited in tense silence for the rebuke that was definitely on the way. He'd been dressed down by his father countless times before, but it never failed to shame him every time it happened. No matter how much older he got, his father still had the ability to make him feel three feet tall.

"Dean. You're alive, Sam's alive. That's all anyone can hope for. You did just fine and you should be proud. That's the most important thing."

Dean didn't know what to say. He knew that the guilt of what had taken place would never leave him, and he knew that he would never feel adequate enough to protect Sam in the future. He didn't understand why he wasn't angry at him.

So many things had gone wrong, and he wasn't sure if he would ever make sense of anything. It was too much to try and process all at once. And his head was starting to hurt again.

Dean rested his head against the stack of pillows supporting him and stared up at the ceiling, letting the sounds of the hospital wash over him.

"When can we see Sam?"

John took his time to answer, and when he did he didn't turn away from the window.

"Caleb's keeping watch over him now. He's still unconscious. They're keeping him sedated so they can monitor his head."

"Can I...I need to see him, Dad. Just to make sure he'd okay." Dean hated the pleading quality in his voice, but there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to see Sam, and he wasn't above begging if he had to.

"You're not allowed out of bed yet, Dean. You know that."

"But...couldn't you..."

This time his father turned to face him with a smile on his face.

"I'll see what I can do."

As his father left the room, Dean reclined once more on his pillows and let a small smile free. If his father couldn't use that good old Winchester charm to get his way, then he'd brow beat anyone in his way until he got what he wanted.

-

Dean sat up slightly in anticipation as he heard a commotion in the hallway. True to his word, his father had somehow made it so that Sam could be moved into his room. There was more than enough space, but they had been placed under strict orders that noise was to be kept to a minimum.

Caleb had told him what the extent of Sam's injuries earlier, and he had been pretty freaked out when he'd learned that Sam had undergone two surgeries and countless tests during the time he had been resting. The poor kid had yet to wake up, they had him on so many medications and Dean was restless and anxious to see him.

John came into the room and eyed him with a thoughtful look.

"Remember what I said Dean. No getting out of bed and keep the noise to a minimum." he warned.

Dean flapped a hand at him. "Yeah yeah. Where is he? What's taking them so long?"

"Patience obviously isn't a virtue of yours," Caleb noted dryly, joining them. "They're just coming down now."

His father was pacing the room like a caged animal, and his strained composure was beginning to rub off on Dean. He was itching to get up, and move, but he had sworn he would stay in bed if he got to see Sam. Dean always did his best to keep his promises, even if he couldn't always. Like how he'd sworn that Sam wouldn't ever get in harms way while he was alive. He'd broken that promise to himself too many times over the past week.

But he was beginning to think that Sam would get in harms way no matter what he did. Sam had a mind of his own, and he was beginning to see that Sam wouldn't always be theirs. One day he would want his own life, where he could live by his own rules and no one else's. Dean only hoped that he would be a part of that life.

"Dean..."Caleb glanced at John before moving closer to Dean's bed. "You should know...he looks pretty banged up."

"Caleb..." John growled warningly from the other side of the room.

"What? I just thought he might need to brace himself."

"I'll be fine," Dean said tightly. "I just want to see him. Make sure he's okay."

Caleb nodded and they fell into silence, Dean shifting in his bed every few moments while Caleb leaned against the wall. Eventually, his father glared at him.

"Dean, settle down. Don't make me change my mind about this. You need your rest just as much as Sam does."

Dean scowled but forced himself to stay still. It was a habit that had been drilled into him since the early days of his youth. Stake outs had been a nightmare before his father had talked to him about the importance of patience. He supposed it was a skill that was useful from time to time, but down right frustrating the rest of the time.

Dean pushed himself more upright when several nurses bustled in and began to prepare the area for Sam's arrival. One of the older ones stopped and looked at the three of them with a frown on her face.

"You understand the rules here don't you? This young man needs his rest and I won't have you disturbing him in any way. If I hear any sort of disturbance, I'll have hospital security in here faster than you can blink," she told them tightly before she turned and bustled out.

Dean glared after her. "You'd think I'd know how to..."

"Leave it Dean," his father said wearily. "I don't need you harassing the nurses after all the begging I had to do to get Sam in here."

Caleb and Dean glanced at each other, and Dean smirked when Caleb snorted.

"I doubt there was much begging involved, Johnny," Caleb laughed. "One glance at your ruggedly handsome good looks and I bet you have them wrapped around you little finger."

"Can it, Caleb."

Dean smothered his laughter with much difficulty. He was feeling a lot lighter than he could ever remember. The weight that had taken up residence in his chest and shoulders had lifted somewhat at the prospect of seeing Sam. And his father wasn't angry at him. His relief washed over Dean like a comforting balm, and he knew that things were back on their way towards normal once more. Or as normal as things got for Winchesters.

"Don't mind her," a soft voice spoke up.

It was a nurse, and a damn pretty once. Her dark locks were swept up into a pony tail, and her blue eyes shone within her sweet, heart shaped face. Dean grinned at her, seeing an instant ally.

The girl blushed prettily as her eyes swept from him, to Caleb and then to his father.

"She's a bit of a Nazi, but she's really a pushover if you don't get in her way," she said. Dean held out his hand.

"Name's Dean. That's my father, and Caleb."

"Emma. I'm your brother's nurse," she replied with a smile.

She looked to be a few years older than Dean, but that had never mattered to him in the least. He heard Caleb's muffled laughter, but ignored him completely.

"You've seen Sam?"

"I've been the one monitoring his less serious injuries," she nodded. "He's doing well."

"Well, I have no doubts of that, seeing as he has such a lovely nurse looking after him."

"Good lord," John muttered from his position near the window.

Dean knew that his father was rolling his eyes, and wondered if it was where Sam got the frustrating habit from.

"They're bringing him in now," she told him.

Sure enough, several nurses appeared at the door, carefully maneuvering Sam's bed into the room. His father turned around and watched as Sam's bed was guided into place beside Dean's. Dean didn't hear the voices of the people around him as he stared at Sam.

White bandages swathed his brothers head, and nasal prongs delivered oxygen to his sleeping brother. Deep purple bruising surrounded his brother's closed eyes, and his skin was very pale. His arms that lay on top of his blankets were both wrapped in bandages, as was one of his hands.

For a moment Dean just stared at his brothers bruised and scraped hands, and wondered where the vibrant young boy that was his brother had disappeared to. Sam was so still, and so quiet on his bed that Dean had a hard time believing that he was still alive. Never in his entire life had Sam ever been able to stay still for a second. And Dean had never heard Sam stay quiet either. Unless he was sulking and then he could ignore you so completely that you wondered if you even existed.

Dean watched in quiet devastation as the nurses hooked Sam up to the heart monitor and settled his IVs in place.

"We've given him a blood transfusion," one of the nurses was saying to his father. "The doctors were worried about how much blood he lost."

"Has he woken up yet?"

"I'm afraid not. The doctor will be in to see you shortly."

"Thank you."

Dean swallowed as he stared at his brother once more. It was true that he looked pretty banged up. In fact, he looked like he'd been gone a few rounds with a heavy weight boxer.

He felt the soft hand of Emma rest briefly on his arm before she left, but he had eyes only for his brother.

"D-dad?" Dean managed. "Are you sure he'd okay? He looks..."

"I know."

He felt his father come and stand beside him, and finally managed to tear his gaze away from Sam long enough to look up into his father's face.

"It looks pretty bad, I know. But the doctors say that his chances of a full recovery are very good."

"But w-what...I mean, what's wrong with him?"

"He had brain surgery, Deano," Caleb spoke up as he approached Sam and touched his still hand for a moment. "And a badly broken femur. Its gonna take awhile before he gets back on his feet again."

"But they said..." Dean cleared his throat. "They said he hadn't woken up yet. Why hasn't he woken up dad?"

John cleared his throat and rested a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing slightly.

"I don't know, Dean. But we're going to find out. Here's the doctor now."

Dean looked once more over at the broken body of the brother he had practically raised by himself and wondered if they could really put him back together again.

-

_"Do you ever wonder if dad's gonna get married again?" a younger version of himself asked._

_Dean looked up from his tattered copy of his spiderman comic and scowled at him._

_"Of course not stupid."_

_Sam pouted at him, but returned to his drawing. Bright yellows and greens and blues decorated the crinkled piece of paper before him, and he frowned as he tilted his head and wondered what was missing from his picture. He picked up the remaining half of his purple crayon and set to work. He was lying on his stomach on the floor of the latest apartment they'd been holed up in, with his paper and crayons spread out all around him. Daddy hated it when he did his drawing on the floor, but it was more comfortable his way. _

_"Why not? Don't you want a mommy, Dean?"_

_Another annoyed snort was released from Dean but Sam didn't look up from his drawing. He didn't understand why Dean had to get all defensive whenever they talked about their mommy. It wasn't like she would care if they did. In fact, Sam was positive that she wouldn't mind in the slightest. He liked to think that she was like the angels he heard about from the Pastor. Kind, sweet and understanding._

_The things mommy's were supposed to be made of._

_"I already have one, shorty. And so do you. Why are you asking all these stupid questions anyway?"_

_"Well, Tommy from school said that his mommy went away along time ago, but now he has a new one that's no where near as good as his real mommy."_

_"What kind of kids do you hang out with Sammy? No, I don't think dad will marry again. He still loves our mommy too much. And don't you go and ask him about it either, stupid. He's too busy to deal with your stupid questions."_

_"I'm not stupid!"_

_"Whatever you say, short stuff." Dean muttered._

_Sam scowled at Dean for a moment longer, before he looked down at his completed picture. Dean always got cranky whenever they talked about their mother. He supposed it was because he missed her still, although Sam didn't remember her at all._

_Making up his mind, Sam scrambled to his feet with his picture and went over to where Dean was sprawled across the ratty old couch. _

_After a minute of ignoring him, Dean looked up at him in confusion._

_"Here."_

_Sam held out his drawing and waited for him to take it._

_"You can keep it. So you don't forget what mommy was like."_

_Dean stared at the drawing for a long time before he looked up at Sam. After a moment, he reached out and took the crude drawing from him._

_"T-thanks Sammy."_

_Sam beamed at him. He knew that Dean would like the picture. He hoped it looked like their mommy, although he knew that she hadn't had the wings and the little glowy thing when Dean had known her. He hoped that Dean could still recognize her._

_"D'you like it?" he asked eagerly. "D'you think daddy will like it too? You can share it with him if you want. I don't mind."_

_"It's great Sammy. Thanks."_

_Sam nodded and returned to where his crayons lay in wait. Maybe he would draw another one for daddy, in case Dean lost his. Dean lost everything..._

-

He wasn't sure where he was anymore, although he knew it was somewhere warm. He couldn't feel that strange presence that had been hovering at the edges of his senses for what had seemed like forever now.

He hoped it was gone at last.

He felt oddly numb, but couldn't quite make sense of the strange pictures that came unbidden to his foggy mind. Just flashes really, of things that felt familiar, but danced just beyond recognition...

-

_"Sammy has a girlfriend!" Dean whispered tauntingly in his ear. "Sammy and Carolyn, sitting in the tree..."_

_"Shut up Dean!" Sam glared at his older brother. "She wasn't my girlfriend!"_

_"Sure. I saw you in the playground together!"_

_Sam shoved at Dean, hoping to push him to the other side of the Impala's back seat so he would leave him alone at last. His father was driving in the front seat, playing his music quietly and very obviously lost in his own thoughts. Dean had always told him not to annoy their father when he got like that, and Sam always did his best not to but it wasn't always easy. Especially when Dean was being so annoying._

_He shoved at Dean again, and received nothing but a shove and a grin in return. Sam stuck his tongue out at him, and crossed his arms as he looked at the window at the passing scenery. Sunlight warmed his skin gently and the cool breeze blowing in through the windows ruffled his hair into his eyes. _

_While Dean was annoying, and he wished that his father didn't look so sad all the time, Sam knew that there was nowhere else he'd rather be, with the hot sun on his skin and the road stretching out before them._

_-_

There was voices, floating all around him but he couldn't seem to make any sense of them. His body was buzzing strangely, throbbing in a way that would have been unpleasant if he really concentrated on it.

There was white noise surrounding him, wavering in and out and in and out...

He knew he wasn't alone. He felt it somehow, but then something was calling him, beckoning him back down into the deepest depths of sleep once more.

-

_"Dean?" Sam asked hesitantly. "Where's Daddy?"_

_Dean looked down at him from where he was perched on the top stair._

_"He's with Caleb, Sammy. You know that."_

_Sam shuffled his feet, kicking slightly at a small rock that lay harmlessly near his feet._

_"Do you think he'll come to the meeting tonight? Miss Jackie said she's put all our paintings up on the wall and that our parents will get to see them when they come tonight."_

_Dean had been distracted all afternoon, and their Dad had disappeared hours ago into the public library in the town where Caleb lived. Sam knew they were hunting something bad, but he didn't see why he had to be gone all the time._

_"You know he can't Sammy. But I'll come instead and look at your painting if you want."_

_Sam sat down on the bottom step and began to draw in the dirt with a stick as he tried not to cry. He really wanted his daddy to see his paintings. He'd worked really hard on them all week, and now he wouldn't get to see them. It wasn't fair._

_"Hey Sammy, you wanna come to the park with me? We can play ball," Dean offered as he slid down to sit next to him._

_Sam brightened up immediately; playing with Dean was always fun. He invented fun games to play all the time. He wondered if one day he would be as smart as Dean was. He hoped he would be._

_"Okay!" he jumped to his feet at once. "Let's go!"_

_"Hold on a sec. I'll go and get the ball."_

_Dean jogged up the stairs and disappeared inside while Sam waited impatiently at the bottom of the stairs._

_Well, if daddy couldn't see his paintings, then at least Dean would. And he knew Dean would like them because he always did._

_-_

He opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. A faint, green glow and a steady quiet beeping was all that greeted him. There was no one beside him, and the silence roared in his ears.

He wondered if this was what hell was like.

He closed his eyes once more, and drifted back into the comforting arms of nothingness and distant memories.

-

_Sam was concentrating very hard on making his way across the top of the monkey bars. It was a very long was down, and he didn't want to fall. If he fell, then it would hurt and Dean would be scared. He knew he wasn't supposed to be climbing like this, but he'd wanted to prove that he was a big boy now. _

_And it was fun too. Dean was off playing ball with the other big kids, but that was okay. There were other kids around him, sliding down the slippery dip and running across the little wooden bridges and swinging on the swings. But Sam was the only one on the monkey bars because he was the only one who wasn't afraid. _

_"Sam? Sammy!"_

_He looked up and saw his father jogging towards him with a worried look in his eyes._

_"Hi daddy!" Sam let go with one hand to wave at him._

_His father stopped below him and looked up at him._

_"What are you doing up there, Sammy? Where's Dean?"_

_Sam giggled and looked down at him. He was bigger than daddy. He had never been bigger than him before, and no one was bigger than his father. _

_"He's playing ball daddy. Look how high up I am!"_

_Daddy was glancing around, looking for Dean before he returned his attention to him and smiled at him._

_"It's very high up. Maybe you should come down now," he suggested, staying directly below him in case he fell._

_But Sam wouldn't fall. He loved climbing the monkey bars, even though he knew it worried both Dean and daddy. He wouldn't fall because he was the king monkey, and monkey's never fell when they climbed._

_"I'm almost across now, daddy. I won't fall."_

_"Oh yeah? And why's that?"_

_"Because I'm a monkey! And monkey's don't fall." Sam proclaimed as he reached the last bar. Carefully, he hooked his legs around the last bar and let go, so he was hanging upside down. Daddy looked funny upside down. _

_He heard his fathers swift intake of breath when he swung down and he giggled. Silly daddy. Monkeys didn't fall, and Sam was the best monkey of them all._

_"Really? Well, its time for all monkeys to go inside for the night. It's time for the monkey's bath." Daddy said._

_Sam wrinkled his nose. "Bath? No bath daddy! I'm not dirty."_

_"I think you are. Wanna know why?" Daddy said and he carefully lifted him down and set him on his feet. _

_"Why Daddy?"_

_"Because the best monkeys are the ones who get the most dirtiest. And you're the best monkey of them all, aren't you?" Daddy crouched down so they could look at each other in the face. _

_"Well yeah. But that's silly, Daddy," he announced. "The best monkeys don't get dirty cos they're so good."_

_Daddy smiled then, and Sam smiled back. Daddy never usually smiled like that because he was always so busy with hunting, and because he was sad and missing Mommy. _

_"That's true. But you do need a bath Sammy, and then its dinner time and bed. If you're real good for me and Dean, I'll read you a story tonight."_

_"Dean too?" Sam asked hopefully. "Dean likes stories too."_

_Daddy smiled again. "Yes, Dean too. We'll all read a story together. What do ya say, Champ? Ready for that bath now?"_

_"Mmmmm...okay. But you have to catch me first!"_

_Sam laughed and tore away across the grassy field, with Daddy's laughter following him. All of a sudden, he was scooped up into the air with Daddy's strong arms holding him firmly. He was swung through the air and he shrieked and laughed as Daddy set him on his shoulders and grasped his ankles. _

_"Now, why don't we go find Dean and get out of here?" Daddy's deep voice vibrated through Sam's legs where they rested against Daddy's chest, and Sam giggled._

_"Okay. Is he gonna get in trouble, Daddy? He didn't do his weapons practice with Caleb like he said he would. Are you gonna yell at him?"_

_"Not today, kiddo. We'll just make him work harder tomorrow, won't we?"_

_Sam laughed and stretched his arms into the sky. Daddy always told the best stories. And if that meant that he had to have a bath and endure Caleb's silly jokes, then that was okay._

* * *

In case anybody didn't pick up on it, everything in italics is Sam's flashbacks while he's asleep. And I'm not sure if everybody calls them monkey bars over in America and all that, but that's what we call them here in Australia. They're those things you swing across to get to the platform at the other side. Me and my brothers used to climb across the top when we were little. Uh…yeah, another useless fact you didn't need to know….. 

I'm off to work on the next chapter now….


	15. The Killing Stone

**Disclaimer:** _Usual stuff applies. If I owned them, I'd be hiding them away somewhere for my own personal use….ner ner!_

**Warnings:** _Swearing, Winchester angst, bored author looking for things to torture…or not…._

**A/N:** _Before you all decide to dispose of my body, forgive me? I know, I know, this update is long over due, but I've been struggling to find a suitable way to bring this story to a close. And I'm under pressure!! sobs I want to finish this before I go traipsing off to England and Scotland for a month! So review and pelt me with compliments and/or death threats and I might just be able to! _

_This chapter was a bitch to write. Seriously, I was considering self harm at one point, but I got bored at work and decided to write some. This is the result. There will be one more chapter after this one (or two) and an epilogue. This chapter was supposed to be the last before the epilogue but I've stupidly decided to write more. What say you all?_

_Anyone else going into withdrawal symptoms from lack of supernatural?_

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: _The Killing Stone_

_-_

_You've been hiding in the shadows_

_Have you forgotten how we used to dream_

_Let me remind you_

_The light doesn't blind you at all_

_It just helps you see_

_Can you see?_

Becoming by the Goo Goo Dolls

-

Dean was bored and tired, but he couldn't sleep. The nurses and Caleb had somehow managed to convince his dad to go home and get a shower and some rest. The lights were off in the room, and the faint glow from the machines monitoring Sam cast strange shadows around the room. He was nervous and edgy and felt incredibly vulnerable without a knife or a gun nearby. Not to mention that Sam was completely out of it and would rely upon him to protect him if something was to get in.

And despite having taken his meds for the night, Dean could feel the stitches that covered him stretch and pull every time he moved. And his chest hurt like a bitch every time he breathed. He'd been lucky not to break all of the bones in his chest, he'd been told.

Well, that was all very well, but it felt like he had. Every time he took a breath he felt his chest twinge. It made talking difficult sometimes, and created odd hitches in his voice he couldn't quite disguise.

Dean scowled up at the ceiling and wondered if the insomnia was a result of his paranoia or the fact that Sam still hadn't woken up. It had been three days already, and they doctors had finally pronounced that Sam was slipping in and out of a light coma, much to his dismay.

Dean knew injuries. He'd grown up patching his father up, patching Sam up and being drilled endlessly on the proper procedures of emergency treatment. He could place stitches with surgical precision and leave next to no scarring in the process.

The knowledge was as much a blessing as it was a curse. He knew all the things that could go wrong, and how one tiny little thing could kill. And head injuries were tricky. People could go into the deepest of coma's and recover just fine. People in light coma's could and did die. Head injuries weren't anything to screw around with.

Sam had had that hematoma thingy and a concussion on top of it. Not to mention the trauma of his other injuries. He'd lost a lot of blood when he'd broken his leg, as was normal, and the soft tissue damage had been extensive, his dad had said.

Sam had a lot of fight in him, but most of his strength had been drained by the Wraith. That hell-spawn had almost killed him. It had drained him of all his vitality and the seemingly endless energy that Sam had always possessed, and Dean still wasn't sure exactly what had gone down in that warehouse.

Dean was angry to the extreme, but there was no one and nothing to take his anger away. Or his fear. Sam could still die. They weren't out of the woods yet.

Not for the first time, Dean wondered just how much Sam would have to suffer. It wasn't enough that he had grown up not knowing a mothers love, and constantly being uprooted and dragged around the country. It wasn't enough that he had seen more horror that three Marines put together. And it wasn't enough that he was cursed to a fate of wandering and lonely anger like Dean and their father was.

Dean closed his eyes and released another hitched breath.

"Guess we gotta roll with the punches, Sammy," Dean whispered to the darkness. "Just gotta learn how, that's all."

-

"Hey Dad?" Dean spoke up.

His father was slumped in his usual chair, clean shaven now and looking a little rested at least. He was reading the morning paper and cradling a cup of coffee in his large hands like it was a treasured lover or a much needed lifeline. He grunted in acknowledgement when he spoke, and Dean scowled.

"Dad!"

"What is it Dean?" his father looked up, irritated.

"Sammy looks like he's in pain."

His father was on his feet immediately and at Sam's side in moments. Dean looked on worriedly, watching as his dad took Sam's hand and put his hand on Sam's cheek.

There were subtle signs of distress etched into Sam's young face that Dean could probably pick out better than anyone. A lifetime of looking after the kid had ensured that he knew every expression off by heart, and could practically read his mind at times. It was all in the body language.

"I'll go and get a nurse," he said, promptly laying Sam's hand back down and disappearing within moments.

Dean kept his eyes on Sam, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out. It was like a punch in the guts, watching Sam sleep like that. In his entire life, he had never been still when he slept. Now Sam was so still he looked like he had died, and it reminded Dean all too vividly of what had almost happened, and of what he had almost lost.

Movement at the door had him jerking his gaze away from Sam, and he sat up a bit straighter as Pastor Jim walked in the door.

He smiled at Dean warmly. "Hello, Dean. Nice to see you're awake and looking better."

"Hey, Pastor Jim." Dean greeted quietly, watching as the pastor approached Sam and took one of his limp hands. A slender, bookish hand was laid upon Sam's cheek gently, and Dean had to look away at the expression of great sadness that had arrested the pastor's kindly face.

"Oh, my poor boy," he murmured to himself. "What a mess you are."

Dean swallowed and looked down at his hands, hating himself all the more for landing them both in hospital. Sam had a gentle heart, but he hated people worrying about him and he'd be irritated beyond all else if he were awake, and sniping at anyone who had the misfortune to land within his sights.

"It's a good thing you've got Dean right here beside you. Like some sort of demented guardian angel," the pastor whispered to Sam, but Dean caught the faint words and whipped his head around to find Jim looking at him with a smile on his face.

"D..please tell me you didn't just..." Disbelief, humor and anger all struggled for supremacy within him, and for once, he was lost for words.

The pastor laughed then, and it sounded so out of place and grating that Dean glared at the older man, and wondered exactly when it was that the pastor had gone insane.

"I'm not worried about Sam recovering Dean. Not when you're here with him," the pastor explained. "Sam would do just about anything for you. You can count on him to get better for your sake too."

"But I..I want him to get better because he wants to. Not because it's what I want. I want him to _want_ to..."

The pastor laid Sam's hand on his chest, and approached Dean.

"I'm not going to sugar coat this for you Dean. You're not a child anymore."

"I appreciate that," Dean replied cautiously, looking up at the now serious man who was standing next to him.

"He's going to struggle with this for a long time. He's going to try and push you away, but you can't let him do that, no matter what he says."

Dean swallowed convulsively, and picked at his blankets as the need to argue rose within him.

"He's got dad as well."

"You and I both know that things between the two of them will never be as they were before," the pastor told him quietly. "There's no use denying it Dean. Your father knows it too. He made a mistake leaving him behind, and he's going to be paying the price for the rest of his life. He knows that. And that's why you have to stick by Sam no matter what."

Dean fought back tears of frustration and rage. There was no way they could ever go back, and Dean knew that they would never have the chance to be the family he had always wanted them to be. It was all he had ever wanted, and now it was something else that he had lost, along with his mother, his home and any dreams he had once had of a normal life as a child.

The pastor laid a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder and he fought the impulse to shrug it off.

"You'll need to be the glue that holds your family together Dean. If you want to keep them, you'll have to be strong."

A surge of bitterness consumed him, and he swiped angrily at the tears that spilled down his cheeks and dropped onto his hands.

"You sound like dad," he muttered angrily.

The pastor was quiet for a minute.

"You can fight it all you want, Dean, but it won't make it any less true. This is what being an adult really means. Taking on burdens that seem too heavy to carry. But you'll manage. You'll learn to live with it if you try. All you have to do is try and things will right themselves, given time and effort."

Dean snorted. "Save me the sermon Pastor Jim. I don't need you to tell me what I have to do."

"Not when it comes to Sam you don't. But otherwise, I'm not so sure."

They were interrupted by the doctor and his father returning. John nodded a greeting to the Pastor, then leaned against the door frame and watched as the doctor went about checking Sam's vitals.

Eventually, Doctor Amal straightened up with a frown on his face.

"What is it?" Dean asked before his father could. Fear had replaced his anger, and a tiny part of him was glad. He hated the taste bitterness left in his mouth.

"He's presenting with some symptoms that are common reactions to anesthesia." the doctor explained.

"And what are those?" John questioned, studying the doctor closely. If there was one thing John Winchester was good at (besides being a stubborn bastard at the best of times) it was reading people. Dean didn't know if anyone could make a living out of reading body language and facial expressions, but his dad had it down to a fine art.

"He has a slight fever, probably just a normal post-operative reaction. I'm going to adjust his medication a little. It should make him more comfortable."

"Exactly how are you administering his medication?" John asked. "I haven't seen anyone giving him injections or anything like that."

Doctor Amal looked surprised at the question, but he recovered quickly and beckoned his father closer. Dean shifted a bit in his bed so he could watch better.

"See this here?" the doctor was pointing to a thin tube that disappeared underneath Sam and was connected to a small device the size a cell phone.

"This is what we call an epidural catheter. It is placed between the bones of his lower back, and continually feeds Samuel small amounts of narcotics and local anesthetics. It's a very effective form of pain relief, especially with surgeries such as the ones Samuel has had."

"So why do you need to adjust his medication then?"

"The strength of the medication we use varies from patient to patient. It's just a matter of finding the right dosage. Samuel's body has been under a lot of stress as a result of his injuries, so it's only to be expected that he reacts in some way to that stress. He should be waking up soon so you can all relax a bit now. He's on his way to recovery."

Dean couldn't help but to glance over at the Pastor, to see him looking back at him steadily. He averted his gaze quickly, concentrating instead on watching his father's impassive face as he touched one of the bruises the decorated Sam's faces like a garish mural.

"Thank you doctor," John murmured.

The doctor nodded and backed out of the room unnoticed.

Dean was left wondering and aching in the raw silence that followed.

-

Dean was flicking through the channels on the TV with the sound down and wondering when his father and Jim were going to get back from their coffee run. Caleb had been forced to leave earlier that morning, called away by a hunt in Mississippi that needed his immediate attention. Before he'd left though, he'd extracted strict promises of updates from both Jim and Dean, knowing that John would be too preoccupied to remember.

Dean had been sorry to see him go. He was at odds with Jim at the moment, unhappy with the conversation that had rattled him more than it should have. His father was distant once more, and Dean was entirely unhappy with the situation. He missed Sam, he missed things being the way they were and wanted them to be right again.

A pained groan jolted him from his brooding, and he looked over at Sam to see him awake.

"Sam?"

His brother's response was to lurch up suddenly and vomit over the side of his bed, a sickly orange mess that stunk to high heaven. Dean's heart jolted in his chest and he hit the call button desperately and Sam heaved helplessly over the rail of his bed.

"It's okay Sam," he called over to his brother, praying that someone would come soon. He hit the button again and again, and Sam's ragged breathing let him know that Sam was truly feeling his injuries. He was twisted awkwardly, immobilized in his bed by the cast on his leg. There were tears running down his face, and Dean gritted his teeth.

He carefully swung his legs out of bed as fast as he dared and hobbled over to Sam, avoiding the pool of vomit. He wrapped arms around Sam and held his heaving body gently, resting his cheek on his long back.

"Its okay, Sammy, I'm right here. You're not alone," he whispered, aware that nurses and a doctor were flooding into the room.

Someone's hands were on him, prying him gently away from Sam and easing him backwards. He didn't want to let go, but the doctor and the nurses were swarming around Sam, easing him back into the bed and fussing around him.

Strong arms wrapped around him, and he leaned back into his father, grateful for the strength.

"C'mon, Dean-o. Let's get you back into bed."

Dean strained for a glimpse of Sam amongst the bustling bodies, but allowed himself to be led by to his bed by his gently insistent father.

Fifteen minutes later, the nurses had left and the doctor was talking to their dad outside. Dean looked over at Sam once more. He looked dazed, and a little confused, but half awake at least. They had upped his pain medication and had cleaned him up, piled more blankets on his shivering form and made sure he was comfortable.

"Hey Sammy. How're you doing over there?" he called out softly, so as not to scare his disorientated brother. He seemed to not know where he was, like his mind wasn't all there.

For a moment he thought that his question had gone unnoticed, but Sam's head slowly turned towards him and grey eyes blinked blearily at him.

Never had he been so pleased to see those beautiful eyes looking back at him. He smiled at him.

"Hey Sammy. Welcome back."

"Hey Dean," was the sleepy and distracted reply. "Where 'm I?"

"We're in the hospital, little brother," Dean pointed out gently.

"Safe...?"

"Yeah, that's right, Sammy. We're safe." Dean breathed, finally believing it himself as he drifted back into sleep.

-

He could feel no pain, and that in itself was a strange thing. Sam knew he was injured, but the lack of pain was deceptive. He'd try and move and when his inability to do so became clear, he was reminded once again that he was injured.

That and the fact that everyone thought he was fragile, and was treating him like he'd break at the slightest thing. Truth be told he felt as weak as a kitten, and he tired very easily. Staying awake was a difficult thing, and he found himself falling asleep at the oddest of times, in the middle of conversations, or in the middle of a meal or an awkward sponge bath during which Dean would tease him gently.

But he was uncomfortable; he knew that much for sure. A part of him was telling him that this wasn't real. That he had actually died in that factory and this was some sort of alternate reality. And living the lives that they did, it was all too possible.

Something was missing, and he was unsure what to feel any more. Emotions flitted through him briefly, but most of the time he couldn't summon the energy to really analyze what had happened.

He kept replaying everything that had happened in his mind. Things drifted back to him slowly and in pieces. The things that he did remember were all relatively straight forward and all things considered, they were relatively clear, but he found most of it made little sense.

Why had it chosen him?

Sam wanted answers, but he knew he wouldn't find them any time soon. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be angry, and he wanted to cry but there was just nothing. He wasn't strong any more, nor was he sure of anything. He didn't feel safe.

Doctors and nurses came and went, people talked to him, and he vaguely remembered answering in some way or another, but he didn't remember the actual words. He thinks that a therapist visited him as well, but he couldn't remember her face, or what she had said.

Things were off somehow and he needed to find a way to change things and to reach out. But to who or what he wasn't sure.

He wasn't sure of anything.

-

"What's wrong with him dad? I keep talking to him but it's just like...he's not there anymore," Dean murmured as he stared at the door that Sam had been wheeled through.

More tests, they'd been told, but Dean had to wonder if they were really helping. Maybe it was something to do with the sterile hospital and the false cheerfulness that surrounded them that was making Sam so despondent.

John was scribbling away in his journal, and had slipped into a dark mood over the course of the day. Dean felt like screaming. Between Sam's vacant company, and his father's worsening mood, he was going to go insane. Sooner rather then later. And probably violently as well.

A padded cell probably wouldn't go amiss.

"They said that he's been doped up to his eyeballs with drugs Dean," his father's response had a touch of impatience to it. "So he hasn't really been with us, has he? He's off his face."

"You make it sound like it's his fault," Dean retorted before he could stop himself.

"Watch your tone, Dean." John scowled as he looked up at him. "I know, all right? I know that it's not his fault, and I know that he probably has some kind of post traumatic disorder. We'll deal with it when we can."

"And when's that going to be?" Dean asked quietly, trying not to sound as meek as he felt.

Dean watched as his father closed his journal with a snap and sat forward a little.

"I don't know Dean. I don't know much of anything at the moment," he admitted quietly as his bad temper seemed to just drain away. "We'll figure it out. Doc says that they're slowly lowering the amount of medication he's on, so he should start getting more alert."

"Dad..."

"Go on Dean. Say what you need to and get it over with."

And there was the patented Winchester way. Face things head on and don't show any fear. Direct and precise. Well, if that's what he wanted, then that was what Dean would give him.

"If you don't know what we're going to do, then what hope does Sam have of ever getting back to normal? We can't just...let things keep going the way they have been. It's only going to make him worse."

"I know, Dean. At the moment we have to focus on getting him on his feet again. Then we deal with the fall out. That's all we can do for now."

"We might be too late," Dean whispered, unable to maintain eye contact anymore. "We're going to lose him, aren't we?"

He looked up, surprised, when his father got to his feet.

"No Dean. We're not. We're going to figure out a way to make this right. I just need more time."

"I don't think we have any more time, Dad," Dean argued, pulling himself into a more upright position. "We need to..."

"Dean!" his father snapped, before he visibly made an effort to calm down once more. "Dean, I don't have the answers you're looking for and it true that I don't have the solution that Sam needs. Just...give me more time to figure this out. I promise you, I'll make this better."

Dean let his doubt and his faiths wage a private war within him and tried not to let it all show on his face. God he needed to get out of here. He felt like the place was leeching his ability to think straight from him.

"I need to get out of here for awhile, Dean. I have things I need to do."

Dean looked at his father with disbelief and fear written plainly on his face.

"You're leaving?"

John Winchester sighed like he was the world's most weary man and for a moment Dean felt sorry for him and backed off a little. After all, it couldn't be easy having both your sons stuck in hospital indefinitely.

"I just...I need to think. Stop giving me the third degree, all right? I just need to think for awhile."

Dean swallowed and looked up at the worn man his father had become. He wondered if things would always be this hard from now on. He felt like he was wearing thin, like he could just...separate from his skin and float away at any moment.

"Are you going to come back?" he asked slowly, knowing that he sounded like a scared five year old and not really caring. He watched as his father approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. The heat radiating from his father seeped slowly through his thin hospital gown and warmed a cold place deep within his chest. After all these years, his father's touch still had the ability to make him feel safe and comforted.

Dean wondered if it would ever be like that for Sam again.

"Of course I am, son," John's voice was rough. "I'm just going to be gone for a few hours. Make sure...make sure Sam knows that okay?"

Dean nodded mutely and watched as his father backed away and picked up his journal. It wasn't until the man had left that Dean collapsed back against his pillows and stared up at the plain ceiling.

* * *

A/N: As usual, all medical terminology is researched and ripped off from the net. Any mistakes are entirely my own.

And the whole vomiting thing? That actually happened to my brother. He'd broken his arm and had surgery, and as soon as he woke up, vomited this disgusting orange stuff all over his lap. Eewww!


	16. Ride Across the River

**Disclaimer:** Mine! Mine mine mine!!! …..No they're not. If they were, none of you would even know of them….

**Warnings**: Angst, swearing, Winchester abuse. And bad editing on my behalf

**Author's note**: One more chappie after this folks (that has yet to be written) and then the epilogue. Any ideas suggestions or requests should be made before then! All will be taken into consideration!

Oh, and just an idea I had, if any one is interested, I'll be posting a soundtrack for this story on my profile page once this is finished. It will be composed of songs that inspired the writing of this fic. So once the epilogue is posted, head on over and check it out.

**Chapter Sixteen**: _Ride Across the River_

_Your warm whispers  
Out of the dark they carry my heart  
Your warm whispers  
Into the dawn they carry me through  
And I'm weeping warm honey and milk  
That you stay surrounding me, surrounding me_

- Warm Whispers by Missy Higgins

They'd been stuck in the hospital for a week and a half. He had been awake for three days, but he remembered very little of what had taken place during those days. It was strange. He had lost almost two weeks of his life. Where there should have been memories, there was just nothing. And that was something that frightened him more than anything.

He had nightmares about it. All that hollowness haunted him, and was constantly lingering on his mind because it reminded him so much of the Wraith. He didn't want to be empty because that was what it had felt like when the Wraith had been feeding off him and it was one of the scariest things he had ever faced.

But what was scarier than that was the fact that he had been ready to die. He had wanted it, accepted it and had been prepared to pass on and now he didn't know where that left him. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about it.

His father was barely around, and that made him ache with renewed betrayal. The man drifted in and out, staying for a few minutes one time and a few hours the next. He had said he was busy researching, trying to find answers for what had happened, but Sam knew the truth.

It was because he was unclean. Tainted because of what he had brought upon the family. He could see it in the way people looked at him. Pitied him.

"Hey."

Sam turned his head to look at Dean, who was sitting in the middle of his own bed throwing gummy bears up in the air and attempting to catch them in his mouth.

"Whatcha doing over there, Sam-o?"

Sam blinked at him for a moment before returning his gaze to the plainest, most boring ceiling he had ever laid eyes on. At least in motels they had stains or patterns on them that provided a small measure of entertainment.

"Just thinking."

The TV blared in the background, and the noise was making his head pound. But he didn't ask Dean to turn it down because then it would be quiet, and silence set him on edge.

"What have I told you about that Sammy? You're brains too small to handle it," Dean grinned at him around a mouthful of gummy bears. His eyes were twinkling with triumph and mirth. Sam made an effort to smile at Deans antics and his attempts to cheer him up. At least everything was back to good in Dean's eyes.

Sam hated it when Dean was sad and if Dean was happy then Sam didn't want to be the one to bring him down.

"Must be why you stopped doing it, then," he replied.

"Ohhh, harsh." Dean cackled. "Hey, you reckon they'd let us have a race down the hallway in our wheelchairs?"

"Doubt it."

Dean flopped onto his back and mimicked Sam in staring at the ceiling. He sighed loudly and Sam waited, wondering what Dean was thinking.

Dean found it near impossible to be awake and not doing something. Whether it be talking or annoying Sam, he was never still, and never silent for long.  
"Pity. This place could use some laughter. Everybody's so serious."

"It's a hospital, Dean," Sam pointed out, trying to summon up an ounce of the annoyance that he would have felt before. "People die here."

_And I wanted to as well, i think, _he thought to himself. He still couldn't bring himself to feel sad about the prospect of dying. It wasn't normal he was sure. The doctors had sent in the therapist again once he had truly woken up, but he hadn't been able to think of a single thing to say. He had just sat there staring at his hands and listening as the quack sitting beside him had droned on and on about post traumatic distress syndrome, and depression. All this medical terminology that had meant nothing to him, and had gone in one ear and out the other.

Was that what this was? Was he depressed like they all said? He wasn't so sure. He didn't feel sad, or like he wanted to slit his wrists or something drastic like that.

Which brought him to another point.

"What story did dad tell the doctors?" he asked suddenly.

Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked over at him. At first he looked surprised, but the surprise quickly subsided and gave way to worry. He chewed his lips and Sam met his eyes evenly.

"Sam..." Dean began, reluctantly.

"Please," he interrupted. "I want to know."

"They told me not to bother you with..."

Sam rolled onto his side with difficulty to look over at Dean tiredly. His casted leg made it difficult, and not in the least pain free, but the pain let him know that he was still alive, at least. Still breathing, even if he wasn't supposed to be.

"Do you feel sorry for me just like everyone else does?" he asked. "I don't need that. Not from you. I need the truth."

Still Dean hesitated for a moment, still chewing on his lower lip. Sam watched as he lowered himself back down and rolled onto his side to face him. The gap between them felt as wide as the English channel, and Sam had never felt so cut off from Dean. Even though there was only a few steps between their beds it might as well have been half a world.

"Dad told them that we were mucking around in an abandoned factory and that we ran into trouble with a bunch of older kids," Dean admitted eventually. "They bought it well enough. Cops said that they've had trouble with a bunch of kids from a town over for awhile now."

Sam wasn't sure how to feel about that. He wanted to feel relieved but he couldn't quite summon the energy.

"Oh."

Sam closed his eyes and tried to come up with something, _anything _in response to that revelation but there was just...nothing.

"Sam? You okay over there?" Dean's voice was uncertain but Sam couldn't bring himself to reassure him. He wanted someone to hurt like he wanted to hurt, but he didn't want it to be Dean. It'd be best if Sam just...disappeared somehow. At least then his brother wouldn't be tainted like he was.

After a few minutes, he heard the rustle of sheets followed by the sound of bare feet on the linoleum floor. He jumped in surprise but made no move to get away when a warm body settled on the bed next to him. He didn't open his eyes, but he knew that Dean was lying facing him. Warm, sweet breath fanned his skin gently, and he felt a warm hand wrap around his own gently, mindful of his scraped and bruised knuckles.

Everything ached, inside and out, but the ache lessened slightly when Dean was beside him.

"Where's dad?" he breathed, keeping his eyes closed. He could feel Dean's eyes on him.

"He's helping Pastor Jim clean the house up."

"Right," Sam couldn't understand why his throat was so tight. Everyone was always cleaning up his messes. He wondered when the time would come that he would be able to do it for himself.

Sam knew he had been granted another chance at life. It was a gift, and blessing that not many would be granted. But it didn't feel like one. And it didn't feel like he deserved any second chances.

Sam wasn't worthy of anything anymore.

-

"Sam, I need to talk to you."

Sam watched his father sit down in the chair by his bed, and swallowed sharply, staring at his hands in his lap. The scabs and bruises stood out starkly against the pure whiteness of the sheets and the pallor of his skin. He felt dirty, even though he had been given a sponge bath not long ago. He was treated like a baby, handled like a figurine made of glass. Even though he was still as weak as a kitten, it made him angry.

Anger and Fear. Revulsion and Shame. They were the only things that made any sense to him anymore, and the only things he could feel. Those, and the dreaded empty void that seemed to follow him around, a grim replacement for the Wraith that had been destroyed and he wasn't sure which one was worse anymore.

Or if the foreboding figure of his father was really there, or a figment of his own wishful thinking. Some small part of him wanted to be the little boy that could lose himself within the strength and warmth of his father's arms. He wished he could be naive and ignorant once more, and that he didn't have to be afraid of himself anymore.

But it was no use wishing for things that could never be was it? No, he was trapped here, trapped within himself, trapped in the bleak hospital room with the father that didn't want him anymore, and the brother who thought the world of him but didn't realize that he was unworthy of such love.

If Sam had learnt one thing from the whole experience, it was that he would never be good enough. He would always need rescuing because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.

"So talk," he mumbled, realizing that his father was waiting for some sort of response.

"I know that this has been hard on you," his father began, looking extremely uncomfortable. "It's been hard on all of us."

Which translated roughly to, _'You somehow managed to get us thrown in the deep end (again) and now none of us know what to do with you,' _ Sam thought to himself, but he said nothing.

"I know that you're hurting right now, and I realize that now probably isn't the best time to be addressing this...issue, but we need to know."

Meaning, _we need answers and we need them now. What you need doesn't compare to the needs of others. Not when there are lives in danger._

It was something he had been told since he was little by those who had known of the lives they led.

'_What your daddy does is very important. He's saving peoples lives, putting other's to rest and giving people second chances. I know you want your daddy, but you need to put other's needs before your own,' _they'd say.

That was all very well, but where did you draw the line? Neglecting your own children? Letting them starve? Not that John had ever let that happen, he had always made sure they had food and shelter while he was off saving the world and it's occupants, but how did that compare to a parent's love?

Sure he had had Dean. His older brother had been the one who had patched up his little boy injuries, who had comforted him when he was scared or upset. He was the one who had fed him and bathed him and put him to bed when his father had been off playing the blazing hero.

But he shouldn't have had to. He should have been able to have friends and not be burdened with a little boy who needed so much.

He was angry at his father. It was a fury that had been slowly swelling over the days spent lying in a hospital bed when he hadn't been there. But it was always easy to be angry at someone who wasn't there. And it was hard to love someone who was always gone.

Now that he was there, Sam didn't know whether to hate him or just be glad that he was around for a change.

"What is it you need to know?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice steady and neutral. Just like he had been taught. Like a good little puppy in training.

The stranger sitting by his bed was watching him, he knew, but he was too afraid to look at him for fear of what might happen.

How was it possible to hate someone and want their approval and love so badly at the same time?

"I need to know what went down in that factory, Sammy. I've heard Dean's side of it, but I need to know yours."

"Why?" he asked dully.

He had grown used to the tightness in his throat by now. It was with him whenever he was awake.

His problem, he had discovered, was that he couldn't stop thinking. If only he could just shut down his brain for a little while. Then he would be okay.

"We're just making sure that it's truly dead, that's all," the pastor put in gently.

Jim was standing near the foot of his bed, his eyes kind and gentle in the late afternoon light that was pouring in the window. The door had been closed after the nurses had carted Dean away for a physical.

"It's dead, okay? I know because I killed it myself. Isn't that enough?" he asked hoarsely, before clearing his ever tightening throat.

"We're just double checking, Sammy. Cross referencing and all," his father answered.

"You don't believe me when I say that it's dead?"

"It's not that we don't believe you, Sam. We're just trying to understand how."

"Right." Sam exhaled. "Ask away then."

He felt more like burrowing under his blankets and never emerging. But he knew that when his father was on a quest for information, there was nothing and no one he wasn't willing to relentlessly grill until he got what he wanted, even if it was his own sons.

Well, there wasn't much left of him to grill so it worked out quite well for both of them. He tried to ignore that flash of pain that registered in his father's dark eyes, but it only served to make him more angry.

"How did you get that burn on your palm."

Surprised, Sam looked down at his left palm. There was a healing burn in the shape of the holy cross. The shape would forever be branded into his palm, and the irony of it struck Sam a little too close to the heart.

He flexed his hand and watched the healing pink skin ripple, feeling it stretch and pull.

"Happened when I got the wraith out of me. I held it back long enough to grab it and start praying. " Sam smiled bitterly. "Didn't like that much."

"And that's when you expelled it from your body?" his dad asked, cautiously.

"You mean, when it expelled _itself _from my body," Sam pointed out. After all, there was no way he was strong enough to do it by himself, he thought to himself. That's what you're thinking, right dad? That he didn't have strength of character enough to do it himself.

"Right. And what happened then?"

Sam caught the sharp glance that Jim threw at his father, but knew that it meant nothing. It was what they were all thinking, though. Jim was just more subtle about it, that was all. The concern was appreciated, but not necessary.

"Tired to shoot it."

"But you missed?"

Sam nodded. _Bet you love that, right dad? Your failure of a son can't even shoot straight. Can't shoot like a real man. _

"It was too fast. Couldn't focus on it properly."

Sam didn't know why he was even trying to explain himself. After all, there was no use making excuses, right John Winchester? There are only mistakes.

No excuses.

"I don't really remember much after that. I know Dean showed up. Drew it off. "

_Saving me, yet again. Like the failure of a soldier that I am. Like the disappointment that I've always been to you..._

"I followed, tried to help him out, but I wasn't much use. " _As always, useless like a pen with no ink. "_Dean tried to get me somewhere safe so he could fight without having to worry about me. But it showed up before he could. Threw him through that window. He was..."

"We know that he was out of it after that. What did you do?"

"I let it get me. Let it throw me about for a bit so I could get it away from Dean."

The memories were coming hard and fast now, hot flashes and flurries of activities that made his head pound.

"Easy, Sammy." A strong hand patted his knee, and he wanted nothing more than to hit it away. Probably would have too, if his head wasn't hurting so badly.

"Just tell us what you do remember," Jim encouraged soothingly.

"It was coming at me. I distracted it, waited until it was surrounding me, and shot it with the bullets. Every one hit, just before it tried to possess me again." Sam looked down at his hands again, staring at the healing burn. "And I prayed. Tried to remember ever prayer I've ever heard. And that was it."

_Bet you love that. Your son, praying like some hopeless boy who's in too deep. Praying to a god who couldn't even save the woman you loved and lost, the mother he had never gotten the chance to know._

And the worst of it was, it looked like he didn't believe it. His father sat there, tapping one blunt fingertip against his chin as he thought and paid no attention to him.

Sam looked away, his disappointment and anger like a swift uppercut to his jaw. The Pastor moved closer, anxious to soothe the hurt that John Winchester obviously inspired within his youngest with very little effort.

Sam didn't want to comfort. He didn't need to be coddled like a little child. He needed to be left alone.

"There's no way of knowing that it's actually dead," his father continued, oblivious.

The burn of anger was like acid now, and Sam lay down once more, pulling his sheets up in a futile effort to block any more emotional attacks.

It was dead. He knew that for sure. He had felt the very moment it died, because it felt like some part of him had been shredded at the same moment.

"John, maybe you should..." Jim began, but his father stood up abruptly.

"I'm gonna head to the library and get some research under my belt."

A hand descended briefly onto his shoulder. "You did good Sam."

Sam listened to the door close behind his father and tried to ignore the other presence in the room.

"He doesn't mean to be so insensitive, Sam..."

"I know," Sam cut him off. "It's just the way he is."

The pastor took the seat his father had vacated and Sam stared once more up at that ceiling above him, wondering when he would get to look at something else for a change.

"Sam, you know that he loves you. He loves you boys more than life himself. He's just trying to make sure that this things really gone, and that you're both safe.

_I'm never going to be safe again, and we both know it, _he thought to himself, but he made no move to correct the pastor.

"I can see you're tired, Sammy," the pastor sighed. "I'll let you get some rest. Dean should be back any minute. You won't be alone for long."

Sam endured to hand brushing over his hair and sighed with relief once he was alone. Although he knew he should feel bad for driving the pastor away with his silences, he just couldn't seem to stop. Emotions were too draining on him. Anger left him tired, fear left him lonely and weary, and sustaining any emotion for any amount of time left him with that empty void.

Sam wished Dean would stay away and if he knew what was best for him (which he probably didn't) he would.

-

"Hey Sam, look who I bought to visit," Dean called out cheerfully as he was wheeled back into the room by Emma.

Emma had become their regular care-giver, and had become fast friends with Dean. Sam didn't mind her, even though sometimes her smile was too bright, and her laughter too painful to listen to.

Sam didn't even try to smile at his brother or Emma, and just focus on staring blankly at one of the magazines the nurses had left with them.

"Sam?" Dean sounded puzzled, and Emma left them, squeezing Dean's shoulder briefly.

Dean wheeled closer in the chair, balancing backwards on it, and spinning around with expert skill.

"What's wrong, dude? You look like someone kicked your puppy."

Sam shook his head, and wondered if Dean was actually buying the pretending to read thing. Apparently not.

"Nothings wrong."

"I take it dad's left then."

"Yeah, a little while ago."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What did you guys talk about?" Dean asked as he swirled vigorously about the room in his new toy.

"Why are you even in a wheel chair?" Sam asked, raising his eyes from his magazine to watch his brother's antics. "It's not like you can't walk."

"Hospital policy, bro." Dean grinned at him. "And a damn good one at that, seeing as how I get hot nurses wheeling me around all day."

"You're just lazy," Sam replied, not rising to the bait as Dean expected him to.

He returned his eyes to the magazine. He was bored, and tired and angry and he didn't have the mental strength needed to go into a battle of the wits with Dean. His older sibling was cocky and down right infuriating at the best of times, and Sam just wanted to be left alone. He felt burnt out and dull in comparison to Dean, and the last thing he needed was an inferiority complex to go with his magnitude of personal issues.

"Lazy? Hey, with all the scum that we fight, I think we've both earned the right to be lazy every once in a while, don't you?"

Sam refused to answer, and instead stared at the garishly bright layout of the page in front of him. Dean was right though. They had been involved in their father's vendetta since they were kids, babies really, and Sam had never really wanted to be a part of it to begin with.

Now he wanted out permanently. He wanted a home, and friends, and he wanted to not have to be afraid of losing the only family he had all the time. He wanted to not be angry at his father, and he didn't want to resent Dean for his never-ending loyalty to the one who had condemned them to the life they led.

But he did, and he was tired of feeling so unwanted, and so angry.

He was prevented from sinking even further into his dark thoughts by Dean calling Emma back into the room. He frowned at him as she appeared, and was instantly put on guard by the bright grin he received in return.

"Hey Emma, can you help me get Sam into my trusty wheelchair? I think it's about time he got out of this room. Change of scenery, ya know sweetheart?"

Sam sat up straighter in alarm, and Emma looked uncertainly from Dean to Sam and back again.

"I'm not sure…."

Dean was watching Sam intently, his humor disappearing. He flashed a smile up at Emma though as he got to his feet.

"It's okay. Me and dad talked to the doctor today. He said it would speed your recovery the sooner you got up and about. So we're going for a little trip, Sammy. Just you an' me."

"Dean, I don't…." Sam began.

Dean held up a hand. "No buts. We're going."

"I'm tired, Dean. I don't think…."

"Tired? How can you be tired when you've been sleeping most of time?"

Sam sighed again. "Please Dean. I just….I can't, okay?"

"Sam." Dean approached him, his eyes softening. "There's something I want you to see, okay? Can you try? For me?"

As angry as he wanted to be, and as much as he wanted Dean to keep away, there was no way in hell he could refuse a request like that from him and they both knew it too.

Sam sighed, and sat up a little.

"Fine. Just…don't take me too far, okay?"

"What ever you want Sam."

It took quite some maneuvering to get him into the wheelchair. The cast on his leg was bulky, and ran the entire length of his leg. Moving more than necessary was extremely uncomfortable for him, on account of the internal bruising, but with Emma helping Dean it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Still, he was pale and sweating profusely once he was re-seated with his leg secured in the foot rest. Dean patted his shoulder and Emma walked them to the door. Sam kept his grip on his IV, making sure the lines didn't tug out of his skin

"Not too long, okay boys? The doctors would have me butt if you land yourself back in a hospital bed for another few weeks," she smiled at them as Dean pushed him into the busy hallway. "When you get back, you'll have clean sheets and lunch waiting."

"You're an angel," Dean told her, flashing another bright grin at her. Sam was trying to get his breath back, and he wiped sweat on his forearm. Lowering his arm, he stared at the sight of his bony wrist, and was startled at the amount of weight and muscle he had lost.

"Doctors say you've lost a fair amount of weight," Dean told him quietly, obviously looking where he was. "They say that once you're out of here, and moving around again, you should put most of it back on in a few weeks."

Dean had taken them into an elevator, and pushed the button for floor number 10 and Sam frowned when he read the description written next to the glowing button.

"Maternity ward? Pediatrics? Dean, I'm not going to go and ogle at all the hot nurses," Sam told him wearily. Sometimes, Dean's lecherous ways grated painfully on his frazzled nerve endings.

Dean laughed. "While that's actually a good idea Sammy, that's not the reason we're going. We're just taking a walk, is all."

Sam rolled his eyes and decided not the hassle him about his perverted ways for once.

"So what did dad do?" Dean asked, softer this time.

Sam momentarily debated whether or not to let Dean in on the budding family feud, but in the end decided that he didn't need to be further burdened with the problems that came inherent with his younger brother. Sam wished, and not for the first time, that he could be more like Dean. At least Dean always seemed to know where he stood. And he was happy with what he was doing. And if not exactly happy, then something close to it.

Sam wished he could be the same. Wished he knew what he wanted. Wished he didn't always feel like he was a walking contradiction.

"Nothing, Dean. It was nothing," he mumbled eventually as he bowed hi head and stared at his cast. It had been violently decorated by Dean and a handful of colored markers that he had filched from somewhere. It made Sam smile when he studied the crudely drawn stick figures, and the distinctly confusing and random passages written in Dean's messy hand writing. Some of the nurses that had been in charge of looking after them both had also written get well messages on the brilliant white of the cast; Sam and Dean had turned charming nurses into an art, even though this time, Sam's heart hadn't really been in it.

A hand descending on his shoulder was Dean's only response, and Sam was grateful for the heavy warmth of it.

The elevator doors pinged open, and Sam was immediately hit with a horrible mixture of baby powder colors, meant to calm and relax no doubt. All they did was make him nauseous.

Baby animals frolicked in impossibly green fields. Fluffy white clouds bounced across a brilliant blue sky, and a big, smiling yellow sun beamed down across the whole absurd scene. It made Sam's sensitive head ache, and he closed his eyes as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. To be so innocent…..

"Oh for the love of…." Dean muttered. "They need to get somebody to redecorate this place. Like, _seriously_ need to. It's like a crime against humanity. Or the fashion industry. Surely somebody's noticed the monstrosity that is this floor by now."

Sam was trying very hard not to laugh. It was part hysteria and exhaustion and part amusement that was inspiring the urge, but it felt good none the less. Dean had the ability to make people laugh as easily as breathing.

Sam avoided looking at the very obvious pregnant ladies and their partners as Dean wheeled him slowly through the ward. And he almost squirmed when they wheeled past the doors that led to the birthing suites because of an unexpectedly loud scream that sounded.

Dean slowed them to a halt when they turned a corner. The wall they were faced with had a long window in it, but Sam couldn't see what was beyond the window. The wheelchair he was in was too low for him to see anything, but apparently this was what had caused Dean to up heave him from his nest of blankets. Dean parked the chair and put on the breaks.

There was hardly anyone around. This part of the ward was unexpectedly quiet, and Sam was confused as to why.

Dean, however, in all his secretiveness said nothing as he came to stand beside him. Warm hands slipped beneath his arms and gently yet insistently urged him to stand up. Sam was reluctant and resisted as much as possible from his position in the chair; he was still very weak, and uncertain that his one good leg would be able to hold his weight.

He frowned up at Dean in confusion.

"Just trust me, okay? I've got you."

Sam relented, and let Dean help him to his feet (or foot). He shuffled awkwardly, trying to balance with the bulky and heavy cast and clung onto Dean as a gentle wave of dizziness claimed him.

Dean stood steady as a rock, waiting patiently for him to get his bearings.

"Look up," he murmured to Sam.

Sam did as he was told, and was surprised to find himself facing a room full of newborns. This room at least, was decorated tastefully. Soft blues and gentle pinks were the ruling colors, with pale greens and yellows making the odd appearance. The place was half full with tiny babies. Some were sleeping, others waving fists erratically in the air, while others lay placidly.

"What are we doing here, Dean?" Sam asked his brother in a hushed whisper, feeling the need to be extremely quiet.

Dean nodded his head towards the babies, his eyes warm with an emotion that Sam couldn't put a name to.

"Look at them, Sammy. They're new. Vulnerable, innocent." he murmured.

Sam turned back to the oddly enchanting sight, and nodded, swallowing past the unexpected tightness in his throat.

"Yeah."

"You were innocent like they are once. Still are." Dean said, a little louder and more firmly than before as he turned to look at him.

Sam suddenly understood why Dean had brought him there, and he looked down, trying to quell the surge of bitterness and anger that was crashing through him all of a sudden.

"Whatever Dean. Let's go."

'"No." Dean used gentle but firm hands, to turn Sam towards him. "Listen to me Sam. I know what you're thinking. I know that you think what happened was your fault, that you must have deserved it in some way…."

"I don't want to hear this, Dean. Let's get back to the room." Sam interrupted him abruptly, attempting to turn back to the wheelchair.

Dean's hands tightened on his arms.

"I don't care if you want to listen to it or not, but you're going to hear it anyway. It wasn't your fault, Sam. None of it was. Nothing you've done, and nothing you are was the cause of what happened," Dean told him forcefully, his voice hard.

"Then how do you explain it, Dean? I must've done something to cause it. I must have…." Sam snapped, fighting back angry tears.

Dean shook him slightly. "No Sam. I can't explain it. No one can. But nothing we've ever come across in all our years hunting has ever had a reasonable explanation. How do Wendigo's choose their victims? Or werewolves? They don't. It's just luck. People being in the wrong place at the wrong time." Dean's hands and voice softened when tears spilled from Sam's eyes. "It's just bad luck Sammy."

"No. It can't be," Sam croaked out, swiping angrily at his cheeks. "It's because I'm…"

"Because you're what?"

"It's because I'm tainted. F-first mum and now…" Sam managed, trying to quell the sobs that were threatening to explode from his chest.

For a moment Dean said nothing. Then he was pulled roughly into his arms, and he buried his face in Dean's shoulder without hesitation, resting all of his weight against Dean's solid frame.

"It wasn't your fault, Sammy. Not mum, not this, nothing. No matter what you believe, Sam, believe that. And believe that I love you. I want you here with me and dad more than anything. You got that kiddo?" he whispered into his hair.

Sam nodded and tried to muffle his sobs in Dean's chest. His brother just held him tighter, not even trying to push him away and call him a girl. He wanted nothing more than to hollow out Dean and hide himself away inside of him, cocooned and safe. Dean would protect him. Dean would always have his back.

Sam didn't need to be strong around Dean. Dean was his strength. And for once, Sam was okay with being the weaker of them both.


	17. From the Bottom of My Heart

_**Disclaimer:**_ As much as I'd love to be able to, I claim no ownership of anything to do with Supernatural...sniffs

**_Warnings_**: Angst, violence, swearing. The Usual

**A/N**: So, here we are at the end; the last chapter of this little story of mine. I really do hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. This is the very first story ever that I've actually finished, so that makes it very special to me. I honestly expected to write this whole thing in Sam's perspective; writing in Dean's POV always seemed daunting to me. He's so much more complex than Sam sometimes, and much more trickier to figure out. Same goes to John!

So a very big thank you to all my wonderful readers who have reviewed. I really do appreciate your support! LOVE TO YOU ALL!!!!

And there's a little present in the near future that you can all look forward to! It's not over quite yet!

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**Chapter Seventeen**: _From The Bottom of My Heart_

_While the scenes shuffle 'round  
Let your world anchor down  
Pull your heart from your sleeve  
First react then believe  
You won't always get thunder  
To warn you of storms ahead  
So bury all this pain  
And get on with your life again_

_Sister Don__'__t cry, by Collective Soul_

Dean wasn't sure who was gladder the day they walked out of the hospital, himself or Sam. Well, Sam didn't exactly walk. He lumbered about clumsily on his crutches. Dean knew that every movement he made was painful because he carried himself very carefully. The doctors said that the internal bruising was the cause, combined with the period of inactivity in the hospital bed, and that he would slowly get more mobile as he recuperated.

Sam was….well, Sam obviously wasn't okay. The first few days out of the hospital, he stuck as close to Dean as possible, relying on him like he hadn't since he was a little kid.

Secretly, Dean was pleased. It gave him something to do, and it was a duty that he was good at, one that he actually liked. Sam avoided any contact with their father and the pastor (they were staying with Jim until they were both fully recovered) and barely spoke more than ten words to either of them. He didn't speak much to Dean either, but then, he didn't need to.

Dean knew that he was confused. Near death experiences changed people in strange ways. In Sam's case, he was withdrawing in order to protect himself. Dean hoped that he would come out of the protective shell he had build for himself with time, but he knew that his father wasn't helping the cause any.

The man had a funny was of showing his concern, that was for sure. He kept a close, but distant eye on the two of them. He buried himself in research for the first couple of weeks, stopping only to make sure that Dean and Sam ate regularly and got to bed at a decent hour. Dean had caught wind of the resentment and anger that Sam was harboring towards their dad, but nothing he said or did made any difference. Sam would just turn away and shut him out. He was nearly at his wits end, juggling the two of them.

He had caught Sam lingering in the dining room at times and when he was in the church, staring up at those colored windows like they were windows to a place where everything was much simpler and made sense. This was the third time in the last few days that he had stumbled in on one such session of brooding that was becoming characteristic of his younger brother.

" Heya Sammy. Whatcha doing'?" He asked cheerfully, covering up his unease.

Sam turned slowly away from the windows and watched as Dean walked up the aisle towards him. For a moment it seemed to Dean as if his eyes were glowing from within and it reminded him eerily of the first time he had faced the monstrosity that had briefly inhabited him.

He shook his fear off and told himself that it was just the late afternoon sun. Sam rested easily on his crutches now, ad Dean's eyes drifted down towards the garishly bright decorations on the white cast. He grinned and silently applauded his artistic talents as Sam turned back to face the podium.

"Nothing," was the sullen answer.

"Yeah, well if nothing had a face like that…." Dean began as he flopped down into the first pew. "He's probably having serious problems gettin' any from the ladies, if ya know what I mean."

Sam turned back towards him once more, swaying on the crutches.

"Not everything is about sex, Dean," he scowled. Dean grinned at him.

"You'll understand when you're older Sammy."

"Don't patronize me, Dean," Sam retorted.

Dean said nothing in reply, waiting patiently as he dropped his head back to stare at the shadowed ceiling. Three….two….one…

A sigh and then, "I'm sorry Dean. I didn't mean…"

"Park your ass, man. You're making me uncomfortable."

Dean watched as Sam maneuvered himself on the bench beside him.

"You wanna tell me what's gotten your panties in such a twist?" he asked calmly. Patience was the key to dealing with Sam when he was like this. If only their father could figure that out…

As predicted, Sam shifted beside him, then went still and shifted again a moment later. He was fiddling with something in his hands that Dean couldn't quite make out. He knew that Sam was probably boiling with emotions on the inside; it was as Jim had said it would be. Sam was already struggling with what had happened to him, and it was threatening to rip him to shreds if Dean didn't get some serious damage control underway soon.

Sam hated being pressured into doing anything he wasn't sure about. Dean knew this because he was exactly the same. He was just more subtle about it that was all. But Sam, he was all blazing emotions. He had never been able to control anything he was feeling. It was all out there for the world to see, and it was all felt in the extreme. It was both a blessing and a curse. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and at the moment, that heart was very troubled and lost.

Dean would be the one to get it back on the path. He was certain of that much, at least.

And so he waited for what seemed like forever for Sam to make up his mind and come clean. Dean already had a sneaking suspicion of what it was though. He kept his thoughts to himself and twiddled his thumbs.

"Do you…." Sam spoke up eventually before clearing his throat. "Do you think Dad's going to leave me behind again?"

Dean had known that was what it was about. He had known from the moment that Sam had woken up in this dark funk of his in the morning that it would be something to do with their dad. He suppressed the urge to sigh and sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"He won't."

"How do you know?" Sam asked, sounding moody and belligerent. Dean knew he had to get a handle on this before Sam did something unpredictable. It was common knowledge that Sam did stupid, impulsive things when he was angry. And boy was he angry. His younger brother was just one big bundle of anger, and he had been since they had left the hospital. It wasn't obvious to anyone but Dean. He was probably the only one who could see that anger burning away just beneath the surface, like a pot simmering away on the stove.

Dean also knew that it was a defense mechanism. Sam had used his anger and his will to survive to hold out against that Wraith and now that the Wraith was gone, the anger was all that was left. Anger for what had happened to him, anger at the world for being so unfair to him, anger at his father, and yes probably anger at him too.

"Because I do. Now that the Wraith is gone, he has no reason to leave you behind again." Dean replied steadily. "He only left in the first place to make sure that you would be safe."

"Did he tell you that?"

"No. I just know it."

"Right," Sam snorted. "And you know everything, of course."

"Well, that's what big brothers do. They make it their business to know everything that concerns their little brothers."

"Right. And you'd know what normal brothers do, wouldn't you? What with your huge amount of experience concerning anything _normal_," Sam muttered.

Dean resisted the urge to slap him over the head. This was exactly what he had been expecting, so why did Sam's anger hurt him so much?

"Look, Sammy…"

"It's Sam." He snapped immediately. "Stop treating me as if I'm going to break would you? I'm not a fucking invalid. Whatever you have to say to me just say it!"

Dean blinked in surprise and couldn't find the words to reply.

"I _know _that you've been wanting to say something to me for the last couple of weeks. What, do you think I'm stupid or something?"

Dean shook his head and stood up.

"Look. Sam." Dean began then stopped, thinking. After a moment his mind was made up. "Whatever issues you have with dad, I think you need to deal with them. It won't do either of you any good to just go on ignoring whatever this is."

Sam let out an incredulous laugh and flopped back on the pew.

"Have you ever tried to talk to that man about anything? It's like trying to get blood out of a stone."

"Sam!" Dean snapped. "Please don't talk about him like that. He's been really worried about you."

"Well, he has a funny way of showing it," Sam mumbled, his hands moving in the shadows once more. Dean tried to make out what it was he was holding, but gave up again after a moment.

"There's no use talking to you when you're like this," he decided without any heat in his voice as he stood up. "Come find me when you're ready to talk."

He made it two steps before Sam did anything.

"Dean….I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be such a brat," Sam murmured.

He turned around and looked at him as he sat there in the late afternoon sunlight, and he felt himself relax a little. He looked so young sitting there. Just like the little kid he had been. His anger had faded somewhat now, and he was sitting in a slumped position, looking down at his hands.

" I really don't mean to….take my problems out on you, you know," Sam continued on softly. "I just….sometimes I don't even know what I'm saying. I just keep getting then and now all mixed up and I don't know what to think."

"Hey." Dean interrupted. "I'm not mad at you."

He rejoined him on the bench and sat half facing him.

"I know. I'm still sorry though. You've been so good to me, and I've been horrible back." Sam wouldn't meet his eyes now.

Dean was struggling to keep up. One minute Sam was angry and moody, the next he was depressed and withdrawn. He supposed it was a symptom of that Post-traumatic thing that the doctors and his dad had talked about. He could deal with the anger better than he could the depression.

"It's okay, Sam. I understand. I know that you keep hearing people say that it's going to be all right. It must be getting old by now, huh?"

Sam nodded.

"And you don't believe that it will, right?"

Again, Sam nodded.

"Well, I'm not going to tell you that. I'm going to tell you that it will get easier to live with. You don't get over things like this. But you learn to live with them. You adjust. And if there's one thing us Winchester's are good at, it's adjusting, right?" He nudged Sam's shoulder gently with his own.

Sam's face broke out into a small, twisted smile that hardly reached his eyes, but it was better than nothing. And it was a step in the right direction so Dean wasn't going to complain.

"Right."

"So…whenever things get all twisted in your head, just come to me if you want and I'll help you to straighten them out. Or you don't even have to say anything. We can just, like…..sit in manly silence and brood together if you'd want. Whatever you feel like."

Dean's attempt at humor didn't fall completely flat. It drew a small chuckle of laughter from Sam, and that was enough to lift his flagging spirits and banish his tiredness a little. He was living for the day when he could see Sam smile that old smile of little boy happiness and laughter.

"Thanks Dean."

"No problems little bro. Now, I think the Pastor cooked some kind of chille for dinner. You want to come and see if he's actually trying to poison us via cooking, or you want to sit here and brood for a little longer?"

Sam looked up at him as he stood us, his eyes hooded and unreadable.

"I think I'll stay and brood for a bit."

"Fair enough. Nothing wrong with a good bout of brooding, if you ask me. I'll save you some."

He started to turn and leave, but was halted by Sam's cool fingers on his wrist.

"Here," Sam was holding out something on his open palm. It glittered in the light from the setting sun, and Dean reached out to pick it up, puzzled.

It was their mother's cross, and the delicate gold chain that it hung on. Both were undamaged and clean, and Dean stared at the jewelry for a long moment. Sam had used this to kill the Wraith. He had used it as a life line of hope, when the chips were down.

It warmed him on the inside at the thought of Sam using something of his to keep his spirits up. He remembered the old days when Sam had followed him around like an infatuated puppy, hero-worship and stars in his shining eyes.

The boy sitting in front of him was just another version of that boy. An older, more jaded version, but still the same Sam. Dean felt his heart swell with love and admiration for the boy-turned-man sitting in from of him. He couldn't help but smile.

"You've had this the whole time?" he asked, incredibly moved at the very thought.

"Yeah. Well, Emma gave it back to me after I woke up. She said I had been holding it when they bought me in, and she thought I'd want it back," Sam explained uncomfortably. "I'm sorry for taking it."

"Don't apologize. I don't mind," Dean said softly. He watched the light play off the polished gold. For the first time since they had been released, Dean really did feel better. Like he could go back to being a person again, and not just a casualty in a hospital bed. Not just another statistic on someone's clip board. And they could go back to being brothers once more.

"You keep it, Sam," he said. "I think you need it more than I do, now."

Sam accepted it back solemnly, and stared down at it as it rested in the palm of his hand.

It would forever remain a reminder of what had taken place during the early teenage years of his life. A symbol of hope and despair, love and hate. A symbol of conflict and a symbol of faith.

What Dean didn't know what that Sam held onto that cross through the years to come, and that he kept it as a reminder not of the Wraith but of Dean's love for him. And of obstacles and trials that they had overcome together. A symbol not of despair, nor of faith, but one of combined strength of will, and unity.

Sam was just glad that it was over. He wouldn't have been able to do it without Dean.

THE END

_I'm still here  
And climbing every rung  
If someone saw something  
Now Someone speak up  
Back over the rotted bridge I cross  
Open up these graves  
Let these bodies talk  
I'm Burried under leaves blood red and gold  
Death says nothing back  
But I told you so  
I told you so..._

_God says nothing back by the Wallflowers_

A/N: Stayed tuned for the epilogue. Soundtrack soon to be posted on my profile.


	18. Epilogue

_**Disclaimer:**_ I claim no ownership to anything used in the making of this story- song lyrics, poem quotes, research material and most of all Supernatural.

_**Warnings:**_ Swearing and angst in this one. Enjoy!

**A/N:** And here it is, folks! The epilogue. The sound track to this story has been posted on my profile, so if you're interested in what songs inspired me to write this story, then head on over and take a look. Hope this is a satisfactory conclusion to this story!

* * *

**Epilogue**

Dean knew he had been right about Sam's anger issues. It sounded funny like that but it was true. If he had thought that going to anger management classes would have helped any, he would have signed Sam up in a heart beat.

As it was though, things didn't look as if they'd be improving any time soon. And the current situation was something he had never even imagined possible.

Their father was driving next to him, tight lipped and silent. Sam was fuming in the back seat. And Dean was sitting in uncertain silence in the passenger seat. If he was truly honest with himself, then he would admit that he was angry at Sam too. But their dad was already angry enough, and Dean figured Sam didn't need both of them hounding his ass.

Four months had passed since they had left the Pastor's. They were currently traveling through Thompson Falls, Montana, having been forced to move on due to Sam's rebellious behavior.

Their father had been coming home from a hunt. While Sam had reverted somewhat to his normal bantering relationship with Dean, including the notorious prank wars that were the despair of their father, things between Sam and their dad had been rocky. Which was an understatement. Sam challenged every decision their father made. If Dean had thought he was stubborn before the Wraith, he was impossible now.

Sam's anger had been both an advantage and a disadvantage. The old Sam had been somewhat shy and introverted. Sam's anger had transformed him into a fiercely independent and self-reliant young man with more confidence than before. The downside of it was that he now had a deep hatred of being vulnerable. If he felt threatened in any way, he lashed out. If he couldn't control a situation, then he backed off. It made him a better hunter in some ways, but it had hardened him in a way that resembled selfishness.

Dean saw it for what it was though, and that was a way of defending oneself from the overwhelming cruelty that the world often presented to those who lived lives such as theirs. It was Sam preparing himself, and in some ways he was glad for the transformation. It meant that Sam was able to look after himself better. If anything happened to Dean or their father, he would be have a fighting chance at least.

But Dean missed the gentler side of his brother. While Sam still opened up to Dean almost instantaneously, he still couldn't help but feel that he was losing his brother to the dark depression that seemed to be trapped inside of him..

And that didn't even begin to describe the virtually non-existent relationship between Sam and their dad.

The youngest Winchester was starting to live up to his name. He was downright pig headed when it came to their dad, and he knew exactly how to infuriate the man and did so whenever he could. It was starting to annoy Dean, the way Sam would deliberately provoke their dad.

Sam was punishing their father, probably unconsciously, but still. It needed to stop. And Dean suspected that the latest turn of events would be the catalyst.

They had been staying in Hamilton, a few towns over from Thompson falls, for a few weeks while their dad was off hunting some nasty or another (Dean hadn't been privy to that information this time). Dean had stayed home from school due to a nasty head cold he had contracted from somewhere. The school that Sam had been attending was only a short distance away from their home, and Dean knew that Sam liked to stay behind after school finished to play basket ball with some of the guys he had made friends with.

Only this particular afternoon, a bunch of guys from a higher grade had seen fit to try and kick them off the courts.

To make a long story short, Sam had exploded with very little provocation, and the resulting fight had been fast and bloody. Unfortunately for Sam, somebody had call the cops. Both Sam and the leader of the other groups had been arrested and hauled off to jail to cool their heels and wait for their parents to come and pick them up. It was so uncharacteristic of Sam that Dean had been shocked speechless.

Luckily though, their dad had finished the hunt and was on his way home. He had literally picked Dean up, chucked most of their belongings in the car and raced over to the police station to bail Sam out.

Dean had been secretly proud when he had seen the size of the guy Sam had taken on, and a little worried. The guy was huge. Bulging muscles, crew cut, well over six foot. Typical meat head. He'd have to teach Sam how to choose his battles a little more wisely in the future.

They'd been driving for hours and not a word had been said about the entire incident. Dean knew that that meant their father was furious. Livid, in fact, and that he was making an effort to calm down before he started ripping Sam a new one.

And Sam deserved it too. Both Dean and their father were sick to death about worrying over the results of Sam's reckless behavior. Their father was at his wits end.

The only thing Dean was worried about now was the impending fight, and dealing with the fallout.

The worst part, Dean thought to himself, was the waiting. It was like walking blindly into a mine field.

He had thought that the explosive argument that had occurred when John had first started hunting again and they had been left at the Pastor's place was bad. This looked as if it would be worse. Of course, Sam had never been arrested before. Sam was the good one, Dean was the one who got in trouble.

Dean glanced in the rear view mirror. Sam looked a little worse for wear, with a spectacular bruise blooming on his right cheek bone, and a split lip, but nothing too serious.

About ten minutes later, he sat up straighter in his seat when his father pulled into a deserted rest stop. It was a truly miserable day; the wind whipped about like a spurned lover, and the sky was overcast and gloomy. The perfect setting for a budding family drama, Dean thought to himself sardonically.

Sometimes, it amazed him just how blind Sam and their father could be. Not once had they discussed the Wraith since that day in the hospital, and neither one of them had made any effort to extend a hand in truce. Was it possible to go insane from sheer frustration?

John parked the car and shut off the engine. Sam was determinedly looking out the window, defiance in his very posture.

Dean watched cautiously as their dad sat still for a moment, his hands restless where they rested on his thighs.

"Do you want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?" their father asked quietly.

Uh oh, Dean thought to himself. When their dad was angry and went all quiet like that it meant that they were in for a rough time. It meant that John was more furious than he had ever been before. Dean wasn't afraid to admit that he was scared. Hell, whenever their dad was that mad at him, he'd run like a scared little girl if he could. He didn't, of course. But he sure wanted to.

Sam, though, Sam was showing no signs of looking cowed. Nor afraid. Dean had to admire his balls. No one in their right minds ever defied John Winchester when he was angry. Except Sam of course.

"I asked you a question," their father's voice dropped a few octaves.

"What the hell do you care?" Sam snapped almost instantly. "It's not like you were there. You don't know what happened."

"No, I had to hear it from a police officer," John snapped back, stirring to anger almost immediately.

Dean tried to become one with the leather of the seat underneath him. He hated being the witness to these impressive displays of temper.

"Whatever," Sam muttered, slumping even further down in the seat.

"Don't whatever me, son. That was a fucking stupid thing to do, and you know it. I want to know exactly why you thought it would be okay to pull a stunt like that, especially when I wasn't around," John replied tensely.

There was silence from the back seat. Dean was staring at his hands as he listened. Within his mind he was begging with Sam to give in, to give it all up and let it go. Okay, so their father had left him. There was no way he could imagine the sense of abandonment and betrayal that had assaulted Sam's fragile mind at that time. It must have been horrible, and sometimes it make him feel physically nauseous to think about.

But that had happened months ago. And Sam wasn't even beginning to get over his ordeal. He hadn't even began to consider forgiving their dad, and while he couldn't begin to understand the way things like that left wounds and scars that could never fully be healed,

Dean just wanted it all to be over and in the past. But Sam had never done things the easy way, and it didn't look like he'd start doing so now. He always had to fight, always had to be the one to put up a fierce struggle. Dean wondered if it ever tired him as much as it did him, and he decided that it must.

"Samuel, I'm talking to you."

"Yeah? Well maybe I'm not listening. Maybe now you'll know what it feels like to be completely ignored as if you weren't even there," Sam snapped before he shoved his door open and threw himself out of the car.

Dean watched in apprehension as his baby brother stormed away, more worked up and angry than he had been witness to since the incident.

His horror mounted as his dad followed after Sam, slamming his door harder than he had thought possible. For a dreaded moment he thought that he was going after Sam to attack him or something. He found himself following, opening his own door and venturing a few tentative steps in the direction both Sam and his dad were headed.

Dean watched, torn as his father reached out and grabbed Sam's arm. Sam whirled around, wretching his arm out of their dad's grasp and shoving him roughly.

"I HATE YOU! I fucking hate you! Get the hell away from me, you...you fucking asshole!!" Sam shouted at him, shoving him again.

Dean felt his jaw drop. No one had ever had the guts to say something like that to their dad before. Hell, neither of them had ever even sworn at their father before, and now...

"Sam..." John was trying to say as he caught Sam's flying arms and tried to get him to stand still. Dean moved over to them quickly, hovering nearby, ready to step in if things got any worse.

"Sam...Sam, stop it..."

Dean was close enough to see the tears on Sam's face. Close enough to hear the sobs desperately trying to tear themselves out of his body.

"You fucking left me! You left me behind you asshole..." Sam was sobbing now still trying to push his father away. "How...How could you do that to me! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you..."

John finally managed to get Sam's gangly body under control enough to pull him close and wrap his arms around him. Sam was still struggling feebly, trying to push him away still, but John held on tightly, and pressed his face into Sam's hair. Closing his eyes as he endured Sam's struggling.

Dean finally relaxed and couldn't help the intense rush of relief that flooded him. It made him feel so giddy that he had to sit down on the rough gravel, still watching closely with an aching and bruised heart.

"I know, baby boy." John whispered almost inaudibly. "I know. I'm sorry."

Sam gave up the fight when he heard those whispered words, and collapsed onto John, giving into his hoarse sobbing and huddling in his father's arms like he had when he had been a little kid and afraid of all the big nasties out there.

"Shhhhh..."

Sam cried for what seemed like a lifetime. But then again, there was months and months of angst and anger to be purged from his system, and Dean was so glad that it was finally all out there and acknowledged that he honestly didn't mind how long it took. He sat there on the cold gravel, picking away at his nails and at the frayed hole in the knee of his jeans, listening to the soothing noises that John was making, and the sounds of grief being muffled into the solid wall that was their father.

The loss of innocence was a mourning process, Dean decided as he sat there in contemplative silence. Most people didn't notice the time when their innocence was gradually drained away from them. When children slowly become aware of the things around them, and not just their own little worlds and fantasies, that's when innocence is lost. Sam had somehow managed to maintain his for longer than he had thought possible. When it had been taken from him, it had hit him harder than it would other kids. The Wraith had stolen more than his innocence though. It had burnt holes in his trust and in his faith. It had made him doubt things that had once been certain, but the saddest thing of all, perhaps, was that it had made him doubt himself. It had made him think that he was something less than what he actually was, something unworthy or love or respect.

It was something that he would have to work back up to. It took time to learn to forgive yourself for perceived wrongs, and even longer to learn to love yourself once more. Sam would always be conflicted though, because he always had been. He was a walking contradiction, and that was a hard thing to live with.

Dean looked up to where they stood, scrutinizing them closely.

Sam had worn himself out. His cheeks were flushed, his hair mussed, and his eyes bright and red rimmed. If anything he looked impossibly young, and the bruise and split lip looked so out of place that it made Dean want to cringe. Sam's cheek was rested against their dad's chest, his eyes unfocused.

Their father had his cheek pressed to Sam's hair, his eye set on a spot on the ground in front of Dean.

He wondered what it would be like to know what they were both thinking at that moment.

"Sammy. I truly am sorry for what happened. I made some bad decisions and you paid the price for that. You'll never know how sorry I am for that," John said eventually. "You have every right to be angry at me, and I don't deserve your forgiveness. I know that. But if you're willing to try, then I'll try my best to get you though this. Deal?"

John gently pushed Sam's weight back onto his own feet once more, but kept his hands on the boys shoulders.

Sam looked up at him, chewing his lip and still looking hopelessly endearing.

"I don't hate you dad," he whispered, looking down at his scuffed sneakers. "Deal."

John smiled, and pulled him close with a hand on the back of neck. Close enough to press a rough kiss to his forehead.

"I'm proud of you, son."

Those words meant more to Sam than anything else, Dean knew. And he knew that it was the thing he needed the most to be able to start trying to heal himself. Dean found himself grinning a ridiculously huge grin as his heart filled to the brim with happiness, and relief and all those things that made him feel all squishy inside. Heh. He really was turning into one big marshmallow.

Sam's eyes were brimming with tears when he heard that, but he quickly raised a hand and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jumper before smiling at their dad.

"Thanks dad."

John nodded. "I meant what I said Sammy. Whatever you think you need to help you get through this, you just have to say. Got it, kiddo?"

Sam nodded wordlessly and the oldest Winchester threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side. Sam seemed to fit there like he was made for it. It was a great comfort to Dean to see them together like that. It was such a rarity that he wished he had a camera.

John looked down at him.

"Why are you sitting there grinning like a loon? Get your ass up, dude. We're gonna go get pancakes for breakfast."


	19. Soundtrack

_Below is the soundtrack listing for my first, multi-chaptered Supernatural story, The Strange Face of Love. Big thanks go out to all my readers and reviewers! I love you with a passion! And i know that technically, Im not aloud to post lists like this but it is tagged on the end of a story, so...  
_

**The Strange Face of Love: _The Soundtrack_**

The Killing Moon by Echo & The Bunnymen

Laugh, I nearly died by The Rolling Stones

Back to the House that Love Built by Tito and the Tarantulas

Candle Burn by Dishwalla

As I'm Leaving by David Grey

Summer Song by The Decemberists

Under the Milkyway by The Church

Drop the Mirror by Missy Higgins

Stand Inside your Love by The Smashing Pumpkins

Sick Cycle Carousel by Lifehouse

Evil Angel by Breaking Benjamin

Candle by Vast

Sunburn by Fuel

Sympathy by The Goo Goo Dolls

Torn and Tattered by Zakk Wylde

Sail Away by David Grey

Never too Late by Three Days Grace

It Only Hurts by Default

The Unforgettable Fire by U2

Ugly by Jon Bon Jovi

For My Brother by Blue October

You Wanted More by Tonic

Thumbing my Way by Pearl Jam

From the Bottom of My Heart by The Wallflowers

Asleep by the Smiths

What you Want by The John Butler Trio


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